


Vicissitude

by engineerleopoldfitz (aching_for_distance), Traviosita9124



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Castle crossover (kinda), F/M, Mentions of blood and violence, almost-relationship, awkward teens, runaways! au, they're working on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aching_for_distance/pseuds/engineerleopoldfitz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months ago, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons fled the life they'd always dreamed of in order to save their lives. Living hand-to-mouth on the streets of New York, their past comes back to haunt them, sending them on a collision course with Castle, Beckett, and the rest of the team at the 12th Precinct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kferreryo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kferreryo/gifts).



> Vicissitude: noun [vi-sis-i-tood, -tyood]   
> 1\. a change or variation occurring in the course of something.
> 
> ~*~ 
> 
> Written for the A Whole New World/More Than 5k FitzSimmons challenge on tumblr for Karla (elizabaethhenstridge). The prompt was either a Castle or Runaways AU. The characters on Castle are so iconic in their own right, we feared we wouldn't do them (or FitzSimmons) justice by trying to shoehorn them in. So, after kicking around a few ideas, we realized this was what made the muses happiest.

Jemma reached up and brushed the back of her hand against her forehead in a futile attempt to brush away the sweat that had begun beading on her brow. Despite the warm September day, she was wearing nearly every article of clothing she owned; the rest were in the threadbare knapsack that was cutting uncomfortably into her shoulder. Still, she trudged on, soles of her feet slapping out a rhythm against the pavement right along with Fitz.

 

She cut her eyes toward her friend, her lips pursed in consideration. The Scot was tense, looking around as they headed away from the busier streets toward the shadier, quieter lanes that lead toward the warehouse. Jemma glanced around herself, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Something was wrong. It was far too quiet, even for a row of abandoned warehouses.

 

They’d found this spot a few months after they arrived in New York, and she had never known it to be this… still. There should have been at least a few other people headed in the same direction but Jemma shook it off. They were probably just early. The sun was still high. Everyone else was likely still trying to make a little more money and find dinner before turning in. Telling herself that the problem was they were simply feeling exposed, Jemma reached for Fitz’ wrist and tugged him through a gap in the fence.

 

“C’mon. Almost there. We’ll find a spot and tally what we’ve got.”

 

Fitz ducked through the split in the chain link, swearing ripely as the jagged metal caught on his clothes. Even after months of living on the street and trying to hide, the Scot still wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t meant for this; years of poverty growing up in Glasgow with a single mother hadn’t been anything like this. He’d never realized how much his Mum had likely given up for him until he had to try making ends meet all on his own. Well, with Jemma’s help, but there was no scholarship money, no living stipend, no student employment now, only hustling for money writing papers for spoiled rich kids who had the luxury of still being in school.

 

Fitz and Jemma on the other hand… Fitz could only dream of going back to his own life. Of finishing his degree at MIT and working for Stark. Every now and then he caught himself looking for the shining chrome of Stark Tower, looming over the midtown skyline. That had been his future, or so he thought.

 

Instead he was here on the streets of New York City, sweltering in layers of clothes, his stomach rumbling loudly, and stealing into an abandoned warehouse in search of a safe place to sleep for the night. Once he got himself loose and the jangling of the fence faded, even Fitz noticed the silence and looked around warily as he followed Jemma through a once-boarded doorway. “Where the hell is everyone?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

 

Jemma had been doing what she’d thought was an admirable job holding herself together until Fitz - who was usually oblivious unless food, science, or sleep were involved - called attention to the lack of other runaways. Part of the reason they’d decided to make this one of their regular haunts, aside from its proximity to several youth shelters, was the fact that there were always others around. It hadn’t provided either of the Brits the sense of community they’d had in Boston, but it had been something. Even suspicious glances were better than the people who were looking through them on a daily basis.

 

The perpetually bubbly biochemist had even struck up a few near-acquaintances. Rather, there were a few people who would smile back or at least not scowl when she smiled at them, but even they were nowhere to be found. She took a deep breath and stepped across the dark threshold of their preferred warehouse, every inch of her alert. Jemma gave herself a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and peered around.

 

No one.

 

“Hello?” Her voice echoed in the space, chilling her to the bone. Still, she forced herself forward. She and Fitz had agreed to spend the night here. After a significant portion of their money had gone missing the last time they spent the night in a shelter, they’d decided to only go there when they needed to wash. And as much as Jemma was craving a hot shower and an actual mattress, they had a budget to keep in mind. Hotels were out, too, unless they wanted to survive on mystery meat for the foreseeable future.

 

There was one bright side she could see to being alone at the warehouse - dibs. She turned to her partner and gave him a small smile and nudge his elbow with hers. “At least this means we’ll get the best spot?”

 

Fitz lagged behind, more and more disquieted the further they went. It wasn’t just quiet. No one was around and it was creeping him out. “I dinna think this is a good idea. This is a safe place, usually. Why would everyone jus’ clear out? Some o’ the others are likely still out panhandlin’, but for no one t’ be here?”

 

It wasn’t hard to put two and two together and Fitz could feel his shoulders squeeze in tight as tension stiffened his posture. “What do they know tha’ we don’?” he asked, his pitch rising with nerves. “Police raid comin’? A gang claimin’ the territory?” They’d both been so damned innocent when they’d fled Boston and living on the streets had made them wary - but they weren’t connected like some of the other kids. Not quite as versed in self-preservation, and it showed. Hence being an easy target for thieves until they’d wised up.

 

A loud creak from behind him brought Fitz’ head snapping around painfully and he was suddenly very sure he knew why everyone had taken off. “ _Fuck_. Jem, is tha’ what I think it is?” His gorge rose and he stumbled back a few feet. Even though the small lump of clothes and hair was across the room, the dark and sticky pool around the body was pretty unmistakable. The scent of blood - or rather the iron in it - had been hidden by the rust and steel scent that already pervaded the warehouse.

 

Jemma crept forward even as her friend stumbled back, a sick fascination with the limp form pulling her forward. It felt surreal, a scene from a movie she’d never, ever hoped to be in, still she couldn’t make it stop. She was vaguely aware of Fitz calling her name and pleading for her to just turn around and leave, but she couldn’t, not without seeing who it was. Jemma stopped just short of the pool of blood, noting absentmindedly that it had already begun congealing.

 

She recognized the jacket first, or rather the three red stars on the shoulder. The girl was  young, younger than Fitz and Jemma even, but had been hard; no one had ever dared to mess with her. Jemma had never known her name, but she seemed tragically small in death, rumpled on the concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse.

 

Reality broke in on her, and with a jolt Jemma took two shaky steps back toward Fitz. He called her name once more and she turned and ran, her fingers catching his upper arm and tugging him along. “We need to go, need to tell someone, we-” Jemma gasped. Air suddenly seemed to be in short supply and she sucked in a few lungfuls before trying again. “We need to call 9-1-1.”

 

Fitz was more worried about getting out and away than he was about reporting the dead girl in an abandoned warehouse. He felt like he was going to vomit, but the air felt too thick, choking him. “Yeah, yeah. After we get out of here,” he said, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. No wonder everyone else had taken off. No one wanted to take the chance of being connected to a crime, picked up by the police and sent back to whatever they’d run from.

 

“C’mon,” Fitz insisted, tugging at Jemma’s hand. She was still staring at the other girl and all he wanted was to get away from the body. It felt far too long before Jemma’s hazel eyes found him, and Fitz hurriedly took advantage of it to herd Jemma ahead of him and back out the way they’d came. Escaping the complex and back onto the streets of Alphabet City, Fitz was struck by the dichotomy. People were strolling by, heedless of what lay within the warehouse down the block. Life went on. Another dead street kid - would the police even care?

 

Still, Jemma was right. Fitz hauled her down the street toward the closest pay phone, outside a tiny corner bodega, and smashed the keys - 9. 1. 1. Unthinkingly, he babbled out the address of the warehouse and what they’d found, ignoring the operator’s follow up questions as he swiped at the phone with his shirt and left the handset hanging.

 

Thankfully Fitz took charge once they were outside because Jemma’s brain felt utterly useless. She would have lost him if it hadn’t been for his grip on her wrist, pulling her past the people on the street. The clueless, oblivious people who didn’t give them another look. Jemma didn’t understand how that could be - the stench of iron was so thick in her nose she would have sworn everyone else should have been able to smell it too.

 

No one stopped them, two pale, scared kids running down a city street. Certainly not the bodega owner who peered at them through the paint-smudged window of his shop, glaring at them until they scurried off once more. Jemma wondered if this was what rats felt like, afraid of bright places, desperate for shadows so they couldn’t be seen. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she wondered for the umpteenth time what, exactly, she’d landed them both in. She should have just let him quit and left it at that, but she’d insisted- it was no matter. They were stuck here, and that was that. They needed to survive.

 

They slowed from a jog to a brisk walk, Jemma acting on instinct while her mind continued to process what she’d seen. She started when Fitz tugged her into an alley and crouched next to a dumpster, out of sight of pedestrian traffic. She watched as he tugged his backpack off his shoulders and began to rifle through it, the quick flashes of green bills finally clueing Jemma in on what he was doing. Snapping out of her stupor she followed suit, counting the money in her bag without actually bringing it into the light. Jemma counted it three times, just to be sure before looking up at Fitz.

 

“$124. Maybe… maybe it’s time to think about a hotel.” She looked at him, eyes still glossed from their earlier discovery but her gaze unwavering. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable on the street tonight, and it’s late now. All the beds will be gone.”

 

Fitz reluctantly agreed with her. The shelters would make them split up, separating the kids into same-sex dorms for the night and he didn’t want to let Jemma out of his sight at the moment. That girl had looked far too much like her for his peace of mind, small and fragile, dark hair spilled out over her shoulders. He’d likely have nightmares about it and make himself a target for someone looking for an easy mark, anyway.

 

As much as he hated spending money on a hotel, at least they had the money to spend right now. The first few months they hadn’t known what to do to get money, until Jemma had suggested hitting the universities and selling papers. It made sense. Not only did the rich kids at Columbia and NYU have money to burn, but public libraries were public spaces. They’d be allowed to stay most of the day if they were actually working on something. It had made sense then and had proved fruitful.

 

“I’ve go’ $218.” Jemma’s eyes flew over to him, shocked at the number, and Fitz grimaced. He’d never been one for lying or cheating, but he’d amazed himself at what he was willing to do these days to maintain some sort of standard of living. That couple hundred bucks could last them weeks - except they needed a safe place to stay right now. She was still staring at him and Fitz jerked up a shoulder awkwardly, ignoring her silent question in favor of logistics. “I’ll tell y’ later. Y’ still have tha’ transit pass?”

 

Jemma fought down her shock to focus on what was directly before her. Seeing the body had been a deeply unpleasant shock, but they’d done everything they could. Mentally reviewing the crime scene, Jemma was confident that they hadn’t contaminated anything or done anything that would make catching the killer difficult for the police. They’d alerted the authorities. That was the extent of their duty and now it was time to worry about themselves.

 

“Yeah, it’s in here,” Jemma muttered as she began to repack her bag, taking care to roll her money into a tight bundle and tucking it into a mangy looking sock that no one would want to touch, let alone search through, and shoved it to the very bottom. She fished out the transit pass and, flashing it quickly at Fitz, tucked it into her front pocket. “We just need to decide where to now.”

 

Fitz hid his own money again and made sure all the zippers were done up properly before checking he had his own transit pass. When they had extra, they each put a bit of money on the passes for when they couldn’t get somewhere on foot in a reasonable time. He felt like this justified using a few bucks on a train fare. Of course, they could do what plenty of others did and hop the turnstiles, but they’d made a point of avoiding doing anything that would bring them to the attention of police. Writing papers for college kids wasn’t illegal - they didn’t plagiarize anything - only unethical.

 

“I’m thinking we could head out t’ JFK. Find a half decent hotel, claim our bags were lost an’ the only thing we’ve got are IDs an’ some cash. Canna be the first time it’s happened t’ someone, righ’?” Being underage would only help their story - who would mistrust them?

 

And to be honest, the idea of a real bed - or even better, a proper shower - sounded like heaven.

 

Jemma nearly moaned at the thought of a real bed and somewhere to scrape what felt like an inch of grime off her skin, but held back. She’d quickly learned that there was no point in counting on things before they actually happened; they could celebrate once they were checked in somewhere for the night. She looked at Fitz, and after a quick, silent exchange, they left the alley and made for the nearest subway station, the hope of a safe, private room for the night urging them on.

 

~*~

 

In the 12th Precinct, a phone rang shrilly just before shift change, pulling Detective Kevin Ryan’s attention away from the report he was skimming. He absentmindedly lifted the receiver and pressed it to his ear, muttering his name instead of a greeting. What the dispatcher told him though caught his attention, and he quickly reached for a pen and paper, the ballpoint flying across the page as he scrambled to write down the pertinent details.

 

“Adolescent female, stabbed, Alphabet City. Thanks. We’ll be right there.” He slammed the receiver down harder than was strictly necessary and looked up, searching for his partner. “Espo! Call just came in. We need to move. You have the keys?”

 

The other man nodded and jangled the keys to their cruiser in his general direction. “Beckett know yet?”

 

“No, we’ll call her on the way. She’s gonna want to hear about this.”

 

~*~

 

“Honestly, Richard, I don’t know why you even bother to act scandalized.”

 

Castle’s gaze shifted between his mother and his daughter, jaw clenched as he tried to find the right words. For someone whose livelihood depended heavily on his vocabulary, that happened far too often where the women in his life were concerned. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he furrowed his brow and tried to prove his point.

 

“Because she’s my daughter! I don’t care if she’s a legal adult, she still lives in my house and-”

 

Just as he was about to prove his point, his wife’s voice rang out from their bedroom, distracting him once more. “Castle, yell at Alexis later. Ryan and Espo just called. There’s another body.”

 

He turned to face Kate as she came into the room, slipping her phone into her back pocket as she began to gather her things. “Another body?” he queried, mentally riffling through the case files he knew where on her desk. “You mean the street kids?”

 

“Yeah, exactly. This is the third that fits the same M.O. Knife wounds to the torso. You know what that means-”

 

“- serial killer.”

 

Castle grinned as they finished the sentence together. He loved that married life hadn’t kept them from staying in sync, and even his daughter - more accurately the young man he’d caught leaving her room - and his mother couldn’t dampen his enthusiastic reaction. He grabbed his own phone, wallet, and keys and was halfway out the door before turning back to the two other women in his life.

 

“We’re not done with this. We’ll talk when I get home.”

 

Ignoring the twin eyerolls he knew were being directed at him, he shut his door firmly and followed Kate toward the elevator.

 

~*~

 

“Still nothing. Whoever did this was a pro.”

 

Kate could see the frustration written on Espo’s face, his mouth set in a grim line and the bags under his eyes a half shade darker than they’d been yesterday. It never mattered what case they worked; a kid’s body, even an older kid, was hard to stomach, even for a veteran. She walked a circle around the corpse, eyes dark as she imagined the corpse in place of the chalk outline. Whoever had done this had been quick and ruthless. Two stab wounds to the side, angled upward between the ribs to be sure to hit their mark. Death would have been quick.

 

Given the age of the girl she’d seen Lanie zipping a body bag around, he was a cold bastard, too. She couldn’t have been much older than 20, if even that. She had felt Castle go tense when he’d seen the body, and knew he was thinking of Alexis. That was her natural inclination, too, but she pushed it away in favor of focusing on the work; it was the only way to get through this.

 

“Have unis found anything?”

 

“Nothing useful,” Ryan jumped in, coming to stand in the impromptu circle they’d formed in the middle of the crime scene. “It’s a pretty common spot for street kids, so lots of prints and no way to tell what belong to who.”

 

“And no one bothers to notice them around here, anyway. They all blend in.”

 

“Weapon?”

 

“No, nothing. Lanie thinks it’s the same knife, based on the entry wound, but wants to get the body back to the morgue. She’s hoping she’ll have more for us soon.”

 

“Who called it in?”

 

Three pairs of eyes glanced over to Castle. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet the entire time, looking around the scene without saying much.

 

“What?”

 

“Well, it’s a secluded area. The other bodies were found in the relative open,” he gestured around to the four walls enclosing the space, “this one is hidden from the street. Someone had to come in here to find her.”

 

Espo looked at Ryan as he flipped through his notebook. “Called in, uh, an hour ago. Dispatch says the caller had some kind of accent, but the call was too quick for them to ID it. Unis found the phone he used. He left it off the hook, apparently after wiping it down. There were no usable prints.”

 

“But, there’s good news,” Espo chimed in, picking up where Ryan left off. “The _bodega_ they called from has a camera. It’s not trained on the phone, but there’s a chance we caught at least a frame of him. They’re going over it back at the station right now.”

 

It was thin, but at least it was a lead. “All right. Let’s find him. He either did this or knows something. Let’s find out which.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz had sweet talked them into a decent enough hotel by the airport. The older lady at the front desk had completely fallen for his story about putting their wallets in their bags thinking it was safer, never imagining the airline would lose them. Their ages definitely helped, and she gave them an upper room with two twin beds, perfect for their needs.

 

The bathroom was clean enough, surprisingly. The whole place in general was run down but scrupulously clean which was all Fitz could ask for given what they were paying for it. He flopped back onto one of the beds, sprawling out and then wincing when the tight muscles in his back spasmed on him. “Go on an’ take a bath, Jem. I’ll let y’ have first dibs on the hot water,” he said firmly. Jemma was far more finicky than he was and Fitz could always tell when she was feeling antsy about it. Finding that girl earlier… He wasn’t surprised that Jemma was fidgeting badly, looking small, sad and a bit lost as she gazed around the room. “You’ll feel better.”

 

It wasn’t the grandest hotel room she’d ever stayed in, but it was the nicest room she’d been in in months. Now that they were away from the warehouse everything Jemma had been suppressing came rushing in, making her skin crawl. And that was beneath the thick layer of grime already coating her skin. It was enough to make her forgo any of the usual niceties she’d extend to her best friend, and instead of arguing with him about the chivalrous gesture, she merely dropped her bag in a corner and slipped into the tiled room with a soft, “Thanks, Fitz.”

 

Jemma wasted no time stripping, leaving her clothes bunched behind the door and practically diving into the shower. She used half of the free toiletries scrubbing her skin clean, leaving her flesh pink and raw as all of the dirt was sluiced away down the drain. Only once that was done did she put the stopper in and sink into the slowly pooling water. Jemma knew it was temporary, but at least she felt clean again. Finally.

 

Sighing, she allowed her eyes to shut as she leaned back against the warmed porcelain. The scene from the warehouse flickered behind her eyelids, the body of the girl limp and lifeless. If it hadn’t have been for Fitz she would have still been sitting there, staring when the police had eventually showed up. But he’d prodded her into moving and had found them a safe place to sleep. Knowing he was just outside the door and would keep anything from happening to her allowed Jemma to relax, her muscles finally going loose in the warm water.

 

Fitz heard the water turn on and Jemma rattling about in the bathroom. As tired as he was, and unsettled from the earlier events, sleep wasn’t even close to being an option. And he felt itchy again. He and Jemma tried to be good about washing themselves and their clothes regularly but it wasn’t always possible. Perhaps now he could fix that.

 

Reaching around the door in the bathroom, Fitz quietly collected Jemma’s clothes and stuffed them into his own bag before heading downstairs. With any luck there was a laundry room of some sort here in the hotel.

 

As it turned out, Fitz found himself in a small room with the motel’s one and only pair of machines - and there was a lock on the door. Stripping down, Fitz grabbed a towel from the shelf with the motel’s linens and wrapped that around himself. If he was going to do laundry - something he hated anyway - and for _free_ \- he was going to wash as much as he possibly could. With their meager possessions these days, washing their clothes only took one load. Jemma would be thrilled to have clean clothes, he thought idly, fidgeting nervously while he waited. The last thing he needed was for someone to try and get into the room while he was almost entirely naked.

 

Jemma reluctantly slipped out of the water as soon as her fingers began to prune. Fitz deserved his turn, after all, and she very well may have used up the bulk of the hot water with the forty minutes she’d been in the bathroom. Opening her eyes, Jemma levered herself up out of the water and reached for a towel. The dingy terry cloth scratched across her skin as it soaked up the water droplets, but Jemma didn’t mind. Just being clean again felt too good to let it weigh on her.

 

That good feeling quickly evaporated when she realized her clothes were missing. Wrapping the barely-there towel around herself, Jemma stuck her head into the room and prepared to call for Fitz… but he was nowhere to be found. Panic gripped her, squeezing her chest tightly as she looked around. She even checked the closet and beneath the beds, but there was no sign of her friend.

 

Feeling exposed, Jemma tugged the throw blanket off the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself along with the towel, hoping the tight wrapping would bring her some comfort. She had no idea where he was or why he was gone. She’d checked the flimsy pad of paper left on what passed as a desk three times - there was no note or any kind of explanation. Trying to figure out what she should do next, Jemma began to pace the length of the room, her panic growing by the minute.

 

Fitz was relieved when the clothes were finally dry and he could put his back on. He hated doing it when he wasn’t clean yet himself, but reminded himself it would only be for a bit. Besides, anything was better than feeling so exposed and nervously checking the door every few minutes and hoping no one needed to get into this room.

 

Neatly folding the fresh clothes - Jemma had taken him to task about his laundry long ago and he knew better than to show up with an untidy pile - Fitz bundled them into his backpack and hurried back to their room. To his surprise, Jemma was already out of the bath and he immediately averted his eyes when he realized she was wrapped in a blanket, shoulders bare.

 

“Hey, you’re out,” Fitz greeted, moving to set his bag on the bed, fumbling with the drawstring on the main compartment so he could give Jemma’s things back.

 

Her active imagination had only served to wind her even more tightly, and by the time Fitz had come through the door Jemma was actually considering calling the police. Instead of his greeting calming her, it goaded her anger and she made sure her displeasure was known.

 

“Where _were_ you?!” Fitz had turned his back to her to fiddle with his bag and Jemma stepped right up to his side. She was so worked up she’d actually forgotten that she was wrapped in two rather meager pieces of cloth as she scolded him. “I come out and the room’s empty - no sign of you, no note -”

 

Fitz’ eyes went wide. Jemma rarely got mad and he wasn’t sure why she was so angry this time. He startled back a step turning to her and scowled. “I only went downstairs, I didna think I needed t’ leave one!” he shot back. “Where the hell would I have gone?”

 

The last thing he wanted was to fight with Jemma. Here he thought he was doing something right, something nice, that would make her feel better after finding a bloody body in the warehouse and now she was brassed off at him. He finally got the drawstring of the backpack open and yanked out the stack of clothes. The lingering warmth from the dryer wasn’t even comforting now because she’d gotten him all sorts of unsettled again.

 

Quickly sorting out Jemma’s two sets of clothes from his own he shoved the stack at her and grabbed his own things. He was too tired for this and it had been a hell of a day. “I’m goin’ to take a shower.”

 

Jemma caught her clothing against her chest, her jaw dropping open in astonishment as she processed Fitz’ words. Her anger vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving her feeling worn down and more than a little guilty, but by the time she’d managed to work up a response, the door to the bathroom had been firmly shut. She sank down to the mattress, cradling her belongings in her lap. She lifted them to her nose and inhaled deeply, the fresh scent of detergent doing nothing to soothe her.

 

Eventually she forced herself up off the mattress, the blanket and towel slithering to the floor as she tugged on a pair of her knickers, a bra, and a t-shirt. Passably dressed, she tucked the rest of her now-clean clothing in her own bag and crawled beneath the covers of the twin bed furthest from the bathroom.

 

Feeling small and sad, Jemma curled onto her side, facing away from the bathroom door, and dropped into a light doze.

 

Fitz lingered in the shower as long as he could before the hot water ran out, and then in the bathroom after that. He and Jemma bickered, sure, but since they’d gone on the run it had happened far less. Their energy had been focused on getting away from Boston and then losing themselves and their former identities on the streets of New York City. That last night at MIT was something else Fitz didn’t want to think about, much less the dead girl from earlier.

 

Eventually he ventured out into the other room, finding the lamp on along with the tv playing quietly. Jemma was an indistinguishable lump under the covers of one of the twin beds, her back to him, and Fitz considered that might be for the best. They could talk more tomorrow.

 

He quietly flipped the switches on both appliances, leaving the room dark except for the small light by the door, and quiet. Stripping down to his boxers, Fitz slipped under the covers in his own bed, his back to Jemma, and tried to settle in for the night.

 

The soft click as the lamp shut off was just loud enough to wake Jemma. She lay still for several long moments, debating whether she should say anything to Fitz or if it would only make it worse. She worried that this was one of those times that Fitz just needed space, so instead of calling out to him, Jemma tried to force herself back to sleep. The end result, however, was her staring at the far wall and wrestling with her guilt.

 

She hadn’t meant to yell; she’d just been too afraid of what might have happened. Every day since they left Boston had been spent trying to ensure their survival, from finding safe places to sleep to getting enough money to keep their bellies full. Given the way they’d been living, Jemma though it was only natural that the very first thing she’d thought had been something terrible.

 

Sighing, Jemma turned over and looked at Fitz’ bed. He was nothing more than a lump under the covers, his breathing even and steady with sleep, and her heart jumped as she looked him over. He meant so much to her… he was her best friend, the one person who knew her better than anyone, and Jemma would gladly give up everything to keep him safe. Hell, she already had. All she wanted to was keep him safe. Safe and close.

 

Before she could second guess herself, Jemma slipped out from under her covers and tugged up the corner of his comforter. She was momentarily surprised to learn that Fitz slept in only his boxers but pushed it to the side as she stretched out next to him. He was warm, leading Jemma to curl an arm around his middle and bury her nose between his shoulder blades. With the blanket settled around them both, and soothed by his even breathing, she found herself quickly lulled back to sleep.

 

It had taken Fitz a long while to get to sleep and he’d grown so used to being on guard even in his sleep that the creak of Jemma’s bed when she moved to get up woke him. They’d also long since adjusted to sleeping together, huddled in corners of dark warehouses or wherever they’d found to sleep. It was the lack of proper clothing that was new, Jemma’s bare legs pressed against his, her hand splayed over his belly.

 

Jemma seemed tense at first, and Fitz considered if he should say something but in the end he waited on her. She was the one who’d jumped to a conclusion and then gotten mad at him, after all, and Fitz felt like he was owed an apology. There was silence though, and Fitz wasn’t willing to disturb them to insist they talk about it right this moment. The steady, warm puffs of air against his spine along with the warmth of her tucked against him were soothing, and Fitz soon dropped back to sleep.

 

Morning came soon enough, and Fitz sleepily snuffled himself into wakefulness, rubbing his cheek into his pillow, trying to snuggle in deeper and drift back off. Only vaguely recognizing Jemma was responsible for the warm weight at his back, Fitz pushed into it a little with a hum of pleasure. The blankets also got shuffled a little higher up over his shoulders, trying to enjoy the rarity of a real bed and proper pillows as long as he could.

 

Fitz’ shifting woke Jemma, and with a sleepy hum of her own she pressed her front against him in return, stretching her torso as her arm snugged more tightly around his middle. While it wasn’t her first time waking up with Fitz, it was her first time waking up twined this closely around him in a proper bed, and it left her body feeling pleasantly warm and loose next to him. She would have been content to fall asleep once more, finally safe after how many months, but Jemma couldn’t.

 

The pleasant feeling was encroached on by the vague, unsettled feeling that lingered from their fight the day before. When she realized that Fitz hadn’t drifted off entirely, Jemma pressed her face in against his bare back and plastered herself against him. “Sorry,” she whispered, lips just brushing against his skin. “I… I was scared. I didn’t know where you’d gone, and-” Jemma’s words were cut off by the tightening of her throat. Fitz was all she had now, and if she lost him… the idea was too horrible to entertain.

 

Fitz winced. He hadn’t meant to scare her. If she’d said that yesterday instead of yelling at him, he’d have understood. All their freshman year it had been just the two of them and even more so now. He wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to her, either.

 

Ignoring the ping of discomfort at his state of undress, Fitz gracelessly wriggled around in Jemma’s hold until he was facing her. It was weird like this, but he felt too bad about snapping at her and misunderstanding to just let it go. “‘M sorry, too,” he mumbled, scanning her face from a few scant inches away. Any other time he’d have awkwardly drawn her in for a hug, but Fitz’ own shyness and reticence about his partial nudity had his hand hanging indecisively in mid-air between them.

 

Jemma took no notice of his hesitation, her arms tightening around his torso without a second thought as she pulled her body tight against his. If she hadn’t been so caught up in her relief at hearing Fitz’ own quiet apology, she might have worried over her prickly legs; as it was, she wound her legs through his and held tight, a few more tears slipping through her lashes.

 

Instead of recoiling the way she thought he might, Fitz only held her tighter. He was warm and steady against her, something she was infinitely grateful for given the circumstances. “I’m sorry I got us into this, Fitz,” she mumbled, words lost thanks to the way she’d ducked her head against him. “If I’d kept my gob shut, we’d still be home right now.”

 

Despite never having held a woman like this in his life, it felt natural to lift his chin, making a space there for Jemma when she huddled in. After a minute of fumbling, he found a comfortable spot for his own limbs that didn’t feel like he was putting his hands in places they shouldn’t be. From there though, Fitz clung to her. Jemma had put the thought into his head and it only then struck him that the dead girl could have been Jemma instead. The facial features were wrong, but everything else…

 

Fitz shuddered faintly and heaved out a sigh. “Dinna even try tha’. I’m the one who got us into the mess in the first place. Too damned young an’ stupid t’ know when someone was takin’ advantage. _Stupid_. I should have had y’ with me from the start. Maybe I wouldna have made such a mess of it,” he said fiercely. He was the one who had accepted the offer to work on a secret project under the administration’s noses. Fitz was a genius. He should have known something was shady about it, but it was his favorite professor asking and it was advanced work… His ego had been his downfall.

 

Jemma pulled back to look at her best friend, not liking the darker tone his words had taken on. Their flight from Boston hadn’t afforded them much time to discuss what had happened, but she needed Fitz to know that she didn’t think any of this was his fault in the least. “It could have happened to anyone, Fitz. If I’d been asked first, I would have jumped at it, too.” The sciences had always been competitive, and Jemma wasn’t necessarily proud of how it had molded her thinking as she’d grown in the community.

 

“D-do you think the police will figure out what happened to her?” As wary as she was of the authorities after what they’d experienced last spring, there was a part of her that couldn’t help but hope they’d be able to do something - anything - to fix the situation.

 

Fitz swallowed hard, trying not to argue with her. Jemma could claim whatever she wanted, but when he’d sneaked her into the lab to get her input on the process he’d gotten stuck on, she’d immediately recognized the larger implications of Fitz’ work. The entire operation and specifically the delivery mechanism Fitz was asked to build set off warning flags left and right. He’d overlooked all the things that didn’t add up because he didn’t want to see them and it had cost them both everything but their physical lives.

 

Her broken tone when she asked about the girl distracted him and Fitz awkwardly pulled Jemma close again. “They’ll do what they can,” he said without making her any promises. If the NYPD officers were as crooked and open to bribery as the ones Fitz had seen in Boston, nothing would happen. He didn’t want to point out that a dead street kid rarely meant much to anyone. After all, if they had adults to care about them, they wouldn’t have been on the streets in the first place.

 

Even with her emotions running wild, Jemma wasn’t foolish enough to miss Fitz’ look or his careful word choice. She was fully aware that he was trying to tell her what she wanted to hear without lying to her, which she appreciated. Jemma never would have imagined it before, when they were huddled up in a corner of the MIT library, but Fitz really could be calm under pressure. Which, given Jemma’s propensity to go into a tailspin when forced to improvise, was a boon.

 

“Here’s hoping.” Jemma’s words trailed off as she pull back slightly and looked up at him. In the pale morning light that filtered in through the dingy windows, Fitz looked quite different. He somehow seemed softer after a full night’s sleep in an actual bed and she found herself momentarily fascinated by him.

 

Surprising even herself, Jemma idly wondered if waking up with all men was as pleasant as waking up with Fitz, and for a surreal moment - lost in his nearness and the fresh, clean scent of him - Jemma wondered what it might feel like to be in bed with her friend under very different circumstances. She felt her cheeks go pink and quickly ducked her face against his bare chest, scolding herself for the thought. Life was complicated enough without entertaining that line of thinking. Desperate to distract herself, she asked another question.

 

“Do you think it’s safe to go out today?”

 

“I dinna think there’s anythin’ to connect us to what happened,” Fitz said softly, sounding a little sad, “But we shouldn’t be out an’ about much.” Sometimes it got to him, what his life - their lives - had become. Although honestly if it hadn’t been for Jemma, Fitz didn’t think he’d have survived this. As rough as his childhood had been, he’d had a home and a safe place when he’d needed it. “We’ll get food an’ some other supplies, so we’re no’ goin’ too crazy.”

 

A few minutes ago, he’d have suggested Jemma stay here and let him venture out, but her admission made him hesitate. He really hadn’t meant to scare her. She’d been the only thing that had gotten him through this and the idea that he’d done something to upset her didn’t sit well. Trying to comfort her in his own way, unaccustomed and shy, Fitz hugged her a little closer. “We’ll be okay, righ’?” he asked, whispering into the silence.

 

The vulnerability in Fitz’ voice, accompanied by the inadvertently tender way he was holding her, made Jemma’s heart swell. The entire situation was patently unfair. He’d been used, and because of it they’d been thrown into a harder life than she’d ever known. The only spot of familiarity was Fitz. Somehow, despite what they’d had to do to survive, he hadn’t changed. He was still the same boy she’d met a year ago, and for that Jemma was thankful.

 

If anyone last spring had told her she and Fitz would grow even closer in the coming months, she would have laughed. For Jemma it seemed practically impossible. They had spent all of their time together as it was - how much closer could two people be?

 

But now she found that where he had once been a reminder of home, now he was her only source of comfort, the one good thing she had going for her. Which explained why, with his earnest blue eyes and the uncertain upward turn of his mouth, Jemma found herself fighting the urge to press up and kiss him. It’d be so easy to do so, to take and give that kind of physical comfort that she actually found herself leaning in a fraction of an inch before remembering. They were best friends, and best friends didn’t use each other that way. Even if it was bloody tempting.

 

“So, maybe a quick food run later? Something other than chips and soda at least.” She used her suggestion as an excuse to adjust herself in Fitz’ hold, not breaking away entirely but moving herself back far enough that she wouldn’t be tempted into her previous train of thought. “Maybe we can see if they’ve picked up the story on the news.”

 

Fitz immediately noticed that Jemma didn’t answer his question. It made his heart sink because he knew it meant she wasn’t any more sure than he was. And as many times as Fitz had asked himself ‘if only’, there was no way to get back to what had been. Even if his professor left MIT, he and Jemma both knew too much now. The bright, shiny naivete they’d begun with had been washed - or rather scoured - away by betrayal and distrust.

 

Even the crush he’d been nursing for months had been put aside. Fitz needed his best friend and the one person he could trust, not a girlfriend. The fact that he could even lie with her like this and not react beyond clinging to her as a point of comfort told him just how far it was from his mind. Honestly, he didn’t even really have the urge to have sex anymore. The idea of it barely crossed his mind, and when it did, it was usually prompted by an inadvertent peek at the other kids in dark corners and quickly discarded.

 

He nodded distractedly at Jemma’s suggestion. “We’ll go together. Find a cheap bodega or a deli an’ grab a few things,” Fitz agreed. After last night, he didn’t want to suggest leaving her behind while he ventured out. “And we can pick up a paper. They’ll probably have better detail than the newscast, if there’s anythin’ t’ tell.”

 

Feeling too weary for words, Jemma simply nodded in confirmation and ducked her head against his chest, content to linger there a few moments longer in the dingy motel room so long as she was with him.


	3. Chapter 3

“There! Slow it down and play back that bit.”

 

Beckett’s brusk command caused the young tech to jump in his seat, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he rushed to do as she asked. Thanks to the 9-1-1 call they had a time frame, which had saved them from wading through a full day of footage. So far she’d seen all manner of people wander past the camera’s lens - wannabe gangsters, bikers, actual gangsters, residents going for milk or a daily scratch-off - but these were the first she’d seen streak past.

 

The black-and-white footage was grainy, but frame-by-frame playback showed Beckett two figures, a man and a woman, clearly headed in the direction of the pay phone. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to take in as much detail as possible. No blood on their clothing, at least none that she could see from the waist up. They were young, too, likely no older than 19 by her estimate, and their clothing, while once good, had gone shabby.

 

She was looking at a pair of street kids.

 

Feeling her heart sink into her stomach, Beckett sighed and leaned back from the screen. Shit. If they’d gone to ground, they’d be nearly impossible to find. They only thing they could do was check local shelters and hope something shook loose.

 

“Keep checking the tape, but print these frames for me? The ones where he looks at the camera. Let’s see if anyone in that area recognizes him.”

 

The tech nodded and hurriedly did as she asked, handing Beckett a large, glossy 8 x 11 of the boy’s face. Fear made him look even younger, if that was possible, and for a second time she found herself sympathizing with him. Hopefully they’d find him soon and get to the bottom of what had terrified him so badly.

 

~*~

 

“I think we’ve got something!”

 

Beckett and Castle turned away from the sparsely-covered murder board to look at Ryan. He was striding over to them, followed closely by Espo, with a wide grin. Castle looked over at his wife, his spirits lifting. Ryan certainly seemed confident that this was good news, and knowing how difficult Kate found it when working the homicide of a kid, he hoped it was an honest-to-God break.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Two things. Remember the accent we couldn’t place? We spoke to a linguist at NYU. She’s confident it’s Scottish. Which, typically wouldn’t be much to go on, but…”

 

“... several of the shelter managers we spoke to remember a young man with a strong Scottish accent.” Espo came to stand next to his partner, his hands in his pockets and a smirk curling his lip upward. “This particular kid is traveling with a young woman. Now, they weren’t certain, but they seem to think she’s English. Either way, they both had accents. They stood out.”

 

Beckett licked her lips and bounced a bit on the balls of her feet, eyes flicking between her partners and the murder board. If they pressed too hard, these kids would disappear, never to be heard from again. They’d have to tread lightly, or risk never knowing what happened to their Jane Doe.

 

“All right. We can’t afford the manpower to sit on them, but… circulate their pictures to the local shelters - both youth and adult. Let’s cast a wide net. Ask them to call us if they come in again, without spooking them. These two are our only lead; losing them isn’t an option.”

 

~*~

 

Fitz sighed and shoved the rest of his meager belongings back into his pack. The last few days had been a relief, feeling safe and secure, sleeping in a real bed for the first time in months. Unfortunately their meager funds had run low enough they couldn’t afford another night - not to mention the friendly woman who’d let them stay on cash was getting suspicious now. Time for them to go before they drew any extra attention.

 

It was bad enough they’d be going back to Manhattan, but they’d be sticking to shelters for the foreseeable future. Jemma hadn’t said anything, but she didn’t need to. Fitz didn’t think either of them would be comfortable in any of their old haunts for a while. The shelters were marginally safer, but worse in that they’d be separated at nights into same sex dorms. Fitz hated not having her within his line of sight, always worried that something would happen, especially now.

 

At least being back in that area would let them get back to their money-making scheme with the college kids. It might not be illegal, but the kids were usually smart enough to not email someone about cheating on a paper. No, it was better to make those transactions in person and collect payments in cash.

 

Huffing out a sigh as he yanked the drawstring shut on the bag, Fitz glanced over at Jemma, the long fall of her hair catching highlights in the light from the window and mesmerizing him for a moment. “You about ready?” Fitz asked after a moment.

 

Jemma looked up in response to his question and nodded. She’d only been recounting what was in her pack for the fourth time, trying to delay their eventual departure for as long as possible. Knowing the time to go had come, she closed her pack and slung it over her shoulder before trailing after Fitz to the door. She paused long enough to look back at the room. It wasn’t much, but it had been home for a few days, and Jemma appreciated that, if nothing else.

 

Once it was locked behind them, the pair of scientists hustled off the property and headed for the nearest subway station. “The shelters will open up in a few hours,” Jemma whispered, not wanting any other passerby hearing their conversation. “We want to make sure we get in. Queue up now?”

 

“Yeah, tha’s probably for the best,” Fitz agreed. “Let’s try t’ get into the smaller one down on the south side. Seems less... “ He trailed off, not knowing how to put his feeling into words. It was less crowded, felt less dangerous than some of the other places. And they could stick together up until a few minutes before lights out and splitting up for the night.

 

Fitz also thought they had a better chance of keeping themselves and their things safe there, in a room that slept eight instead of one that slept twenty-four. The walk to the subway station was longer than he’d like, and he had to stop himself from eyeing the homeless on the way there. Even though he technically was one of them now, he was still a white male. He’d gotten a crash course in why his kind were so disliked among the street kids long ago. He didn’t need a reminder from the adults hanging around, too.

 

~*~

 

By the time they got onto the train for the long ride back, Fitz could feel himself changing again. He’d relaxed, been comfortable and secure at the hotel and now he needed to be strong again. For Jemma, if not for himself. He stared idly through the glass, Jemma a warm weight at his side. “Got your knife on y’, just in case?”  Jemma had a thin switchblade Fitz had stolen from another kid ages ago and instructed her to keep on her body at all times for safety.

 

Of course, they weren’t supposed to have weapons at the shelter, but Fitz thought they’d both feel better with a bit of protection.

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

Jemma skimmed her hand over her hip, feeling the slight bump at the waist of her pants. She’d quickly figured out that shelters weren’t above checking their belongings and had taken to keep the blade on her person at all times. Harder for anyone - shelter supervisor or another kid - from taking it from her as easily as Fitz had nicked it from its previous owner.

 

Her eyes flitted down to where Fitz’ hand was spread on his thigh, and before she realized what she was thinking of doing, her palm was covering it. He shot her a questioning look that Jemma brushed off with a small shrug. Given the circumstances, she wasn’t above taking what comfort she could, particularly when they would be separated shortly. As nice as it was to be off the street and not have to pay for the luxury of a rat-free sleeping space, she would miss hearing the soft sounds Fitz made in his sleep. Somehow being crowded in with a dozen other girls or so just wasn’t the same.

 

She didn’t let go for the duration of their ride, only releasing him when they needed to make their transfers. Jemma was tempted to take it up again when they were standing in line but resisted. Emoting too often in front of the other kids would only bring trouble. Instead Jemma did her best to keep her expression stony as they shuffled forward. She may have been imagining it, but it seemed like the woman who checked them in looked at her a little too closely, making Jemma’s skin crawl, but she ignored it.

 

If Fitz found it odd he never breathed a word once they were in and huddled into a corner of the common room, their things resting on the floor between them. Not feeling up to talking, Jemma scanned the room, looking at the other kids they would be bunking with tonight. She wondered how close they’d been to being victims, too, and gave an involuntary shudder.

 

Fitz bumped Jemma’s arm with his elbow, catching her attention and shooting her a worried look when her amber eyes swung his way. He hadn’t missed the shudder but he couldn’t be too openly affectionate here. Caring too much was a weakness and people already knew he and Jemma stuck together almost all the time. He’d overheard the girls giving her shit about it before, that if Jemma wanted someone she should pick someone who could actually protect her rather than someone she’d have to fight for.

 

He’d resented the implication that he couldn’t take care of himself, but honestly Fitz also knew they were likely right. Jemma stuck with him because she wanted to. At least, he hoped she did. She was his best friend. There was also the point that any other guy on the streets would expect some sort of repayment for their protection. If it ever came to that… Jemma was as innocent as he was, as far as Fitz knew. He already carried enough guilt without the idea of Jemma having to sell herself, much less her virginity, to be safe.

 

He’d always been grateful to her for sticking with him the whole damn time. The least he could do was be observant and try to be helpful when he could, like now, and his brow quirked up in question.

 

“Nothing,” she whispered with a little shake of her head, “I was just thinking-”

 

A sudden flash of navy blue caught her attention, causing Jemma to cut herself off mid-sentence. Across the commons, through the plate glass doors leading to the front entrance of the shelter, she could see two officers speaking to the manager. Jemma’s blood ran cold with the certainty that her initial suspicion that they’d been made was correct. Reaching out, she clutched at Fitz’ sleeve, knuckles white, drawing him near so only he would hear her.

 

“Fitz, we need to move.” She didn’t bother to explain why. Jemma could feel he’d gone tense, too, and knew he’d seen what had drawn her attention. Perfectly in sync, as always, they each gathered their bag and meandered as nonchalantly as possible toward the long back hall, blending in with the pack of other teens that milled aimlessly in the commons.

 

The red fire door was a beacon to Jemma and she had to fight to keep herself from sprinting at it full speed toward it. There hadn’t been any shouting when they’d left the main area, so there was no need to draw attention to themselves now by making too much noise. Her fingers curled around the cool metal bar, and she glanced back at Fitz with a triumphant grin as it gave easily.

 

“Thank God, that was - _fuck_.”


	4. Chapter 4

While Jemma was looking forward and navigating toward the door, Fitz was glancing back over his shoulder to see if they’d been spotted. As she’d noted, there was no outcry and none of the adults seemed to be alarmed, and his shoulders relaxed. Despite the signs on the fire doors, there were no actual alarms - all the kids knew it and often slipped out in the night if things got ugly - and if they just made it outside they could easily slip away.

 

The sharp expletive, so rare to hear from Jemma, brought Fitz’ head spinning around. She’d opened the door onto two uniformed officers who were clearly waiting for them. There wasn’t even a point in trying to run. Going back through the shelter was futile and the officers were blocking the small flight of stairs. Neither of them had the physical agility to vault the railing into the alley. Well, Fitz might, but he’d never leave Jemma so it never seriously crossed his mind.

 

Instead his shoulders slumped. Fitz’ experience with the Boston police hadn’t given him any reason to trust any officer and he sidled closer to Jemma, slipping his hand into hers and holding on tight. His blue eyes met her hazel ones, and the fear in them twisted his heart. They were barely seventeen, neither of them should be dealing with any of this, but there didn’t seem to be a way out. Worse, getting logged in a police database would put them back on the radar; electronic record of their whereabouts, exactly what they’d tried so hard to avoid.

 

Jemma could feel the tears pricking the corners of her eyes as the officers approached them, but fought them off, opting to squeeze Fitz’ fingers between her own. No tears. Tears were weakness and if any of the kids here saw her cry, they’d both be marked as targets as soon as they got back. She shook off the first officer who grabbed at her sleeve, giving him a dirty look as she picked up her bag.

 

“Are we being arrested?”

 

The officer hesitated for a moment, uncertain, glancing at his partner and back to them before shaking his head. Jemma adjusted her grip on Fitz, sliding her fingers through his own instead of merely squeezing them, and gave a curt nod.

 

“Then you don’t need to touch me. We won’t run.”

 

They were silent in the back of the squad car, fingers linked together as they watched the buildings pass by. The somber mood didn’t leave as they trudged up the steps of the precinct and into booking. Jemma watched, expression disinterested, as they placed their palms on scanners and took their fingerprints. Thankfully neither of them had criminal records from before, but they had been given access to several projects that required an abnormal amount of security. It would take the NYPD a while, but eventually they would find their real names.

 

The uniformed officers sat them on a bench together to wait for questioning, and Jemma shamelessly made use of the opportunity to lean her shoulder against Fitz. Her stomach sank with awful certainty as she watched what must be two detectives approach, a man and a woman with serious expressions. They were coming for one of them. Licking her lips, she turned to Fitz and whispered directly in his ear, “The less we say, the better. Whoever gets out first waits at our spot. Promise?”

 

Fitz was grateful for the way Jemma immediately took control of the situation. If he’d been the one to speak to the cops - especially if they’d tried to take them by force - his temper would only have made things worse. Instead he silently followed Jemma into the police cruiser and then the station, his fingers firmly linked with hers. It might have been their usual way to talk at each other, babbling over each other even, but they could speak volumes in silence, too. The short, pointed glance that followed Jemma’s whisper had Fitz nodding his agreement, even though he’d forcibly resist leaving this building without her.

 

The female detective led Jemma away, Fitz’ gaze tracking her down the hall until they disappeared around a corner and his attention turned back to the man. Tall, with sandy brown hair and a bit of a paunch, Fitz couldn’t quite peg him as a cop. The tall Latino man who came around the corner a few minutes later, a badge slung around his neck on a long chain, definitely was.

 

Unwilling to rock the boat yet, remembering Jemma’s confidence that they weren’t being arrested, Fitz tried not to panic as he was led into a stereotypical, almost movie perfect interrogation room. There was even a two-way mirror on the wall and a horribly uncomfortable looking metal chair that Fitz was motioned into. Slumping into the seat, Fitz crossed his arms over his chest defensively, trying not to fidget.

 

Beckett slid into her seat across from the kid, waiting for Castle to settle in at her side before addressing him. It gave her the chance to look the boy over, size him up. His blue eyes seemed impossibly wide beneath the fluorescent light, his pale skin almost entirely washed out save for the dark bags beneath his eyes. Whoever he was, living on the street had been hard on him and it showed.

 

Still, she was cautious. There was still a spark of pride in his eyes, and if they pushed him too hard he might just clam up. Beckett knew she’d have to play this carefully. Shooting Castle a look meant to keep him quiet, at least for now, she leaned forward and asked, “Do you know why you’re here?”

 

Fitz was surprised when the Latino man sat him down and then left him alone in the room until the female detective returned. She was pretty, but clearly no-nonsense, and even just her short question rankled him. He might have made some stupid choices in the past, but Fitz was no fool. “No, but there are laws against this sort o’ thing here, yeah? I dinna have t’ talk t’ you, an’ I’m underage, so y’ canna keep me here without chargin’ me with somethin’.”

 

He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms, the spark of pride shifting to defiance. The Boston PD had been more heavy-handed than this, threatening him almost from the beginning, but that didn’t mean Fitz was letting his guard down. “I also dinna think you’re allowed t’ question me without identifyin’ yourselves,” he said pointedly, wondering if Jemma was getting similar treatment elsewhere.

 

“Detective Kate Beckett, and Richard Castle, au-”

 

Castle cut himself off when he saw the look Beckett was giving him, his stomach sinking into his soles. Apparently she had wanted to slow play the kid and he’d jumped the gun. His shoulders slumped as he tried to casually shy away from her glare, and he gave her an apologetic shrug in deference to her title.

 

Clearing her throat and shuffling the folder before her to cover the faux pas, Beckett took a moment to gather her thoughts before turning that oh-so-effective stare back on the Scot. “You’re not being charged, but you are a person of interest in not one, but four, murders.” That seemed to take the wind out of his sails, his shoulders slumping, and she began to lay out photos from all four crime scenes in neat rows before him.

 

“So, let’s try again. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

 

~*~

 

Jemma sat with as much attitude as she could muster in the cold metal chair, legs crossed at the knee and arms crossed just below her breasts, despite the way her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest. They had separated them for questioning, meaning the last she’d seen of Fitz had been a quick glance as he’d been locked away in a different room. Jemma recognized why they had put them in different rooms, but she couldn’t help but feel anxious without Fitz by her side. Still, she did her best to be the picture of indifference, her head tipped over the back of the chair as she contemplated the little holes in the tiles of the drop ceiling and the fluorescent lights.

 

Eventually the door creaked open, although Jemma waited until she heard the scrape of the chairs pulling out across from her to sit up and look at the detectives they’d sent in. She had to fight the urge to smirk. The two they sent in were younger men, and while she could see that they were both objectively handsome, it would take a lot more than a pair of pretty faces to make her talk. It was almost insulting if that was indeed their ploy.

 

“So, Miss…” the swarthier man began, clearly fishing for her name. Jemma gave him her best smartarse smile and tilted her head to the side.

 

“Smith.”  
  


The men shared a look, but continued.

 

“Miss Smith. We have a few questions for you about the call you and your friend made to 9-1-1 the other night.”

 

“Call?”

 

“Don’t play stupid.” The other detective hadn’t fallen for her act for a moment and gave her a pointed look. “There’s a dead girl,” he laid the crime scene photos before her and Jemma had to work to school her features at seeing the body once more. Somehow it seemed fake once it was immortalized on photo paper. “She deserves answers. Answers you have.” He finished it up by placing the security still of the Fitz and her from outside the _bodega_.

 

“Now we know you were there,” the first man chimed in, nodding at the picture. “Why not just tell us what you were doing there? Tell us, and we’ll let you go.”

 

Jemma sat back and looked between the two of them, allowing the moment to spin out a bit before speaking. “I’ll talk… as soon as I see a youth counselor. And F- my friend.” She bit her lip, hopeful they wouldn’t catch her near-slip. As far as Jemma was concerned, the less they knew about the two of them, the better, even if they had their prints.

 

“A youth counselor?”

 

“Yes, a youth counselor,” she confirmed with a small nod. “I know my rights. I get a lawyer or a youth counselor. I don’t need a lawyer, but a counselor will do nicely.” She waited while they conferred with each other, a patient smile plastered across her face.

 

“It’s going to take us a while to find one, given the hour.”

 

“That’s all right. I’ll wait.”

 

With one last, exasperated look, they exited the room, leaving Jemma alone once more.

 

~*~

 

Fitz had every intention of doing as he’d agreed and keeping quiet, but they had the photos of him and Jemma passing the _bodega_ on the way to the payphone, and the recording of his voice on the call. Playing stupid wasn’t an option at that point and would only look more suspicious. He struggled though, trying to resist the urge to blab out everything, to put his faith back into a trustworthy adult to get himself out of the mess he’d created.

 

Because really, as much as he wanted to trust this Detective Beckett, he still had memories of another cop roughing him up and telling him to stay put and keep his mouth shut if he wanted to live. Of the Chief of Security at MIT fiddling with a knife and telling Fitz if he didn’t cooperate that he’d slide that same knife between Jemma’s ribs, and not Fitz’ own… Which was the the thought that had Fitz’ eyes sliding over the photos again, doubling over with the force of his sudden nausea.

 

Three girls. Petite, dark haired and dark eyed. One boy. Slim and fair, curly-haired although lighter than Fitz’ own. He recognized them all from the past months although he couldn’t name them. More importantly, he’d had the thought in the warehouse that the girl looked like Jemma. His fault. Four other kids were dead because he’d grabbed Jemma and run and someone had managed to track them here. They’d all been stabbed the same way, under the ribs. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

 

Feeling green around the edges - and he must have looked it, given the sudden concern on Beckett and Castle’s faces - Fitz told them the truth. The words spilled out in a seemingly endless stream as Fitz stared at the photos. He couldn’t look at them, too scared of what else he might see.

 

~*~

 

After being marched passed Fitz’ own holding room, two hours of nearly pointless back-and-forth, three different drink requests, and a countless number of exasperated expressions, the detectives eventually came back with confident smirks on their faces.

 

“So, Simmons…”

 

“... it is Simmons, right?”

 

 _Shite_. They’d cracked Fitz. Jemma forced herself to keep her composure and sat up, hands folded on the metal table.

 

“Perhaps.”

 

The Hispanic detective’s - Esposito, she’d gathered - smirk bloomed into a full, cocky grin. “You can play coy all you’d like, sweetheart, but your boyfriend sang.”

 

“Like a canary.”

 

“We know everything.”

 

“MIT - ”

 

“ - the project - ”

 

“ - you going on the run - ”

 

“ - so why don’t you just cut the act and talk? Save us all some time.”

 

Jemma’s competitive nature had an awful habit of rearing its head at the worst possible time, and the way they were both looking at her, as though they’d already won, goaded her on. She wouldn’t be beat that easily. Giving a pointed look to the empty chair to her right, she sucked on her teeth and sat back from the table.

 

“I talk under one of two conditions. I talk to my friend, or I have a counselor. It’s up to you.”

 

They shared a look before standing in unison and coming around the table, each of them taking her under an arm. “All right,” Detective Ryan asserted above her protests as they moved her bodily out of the room, “have it your way. Let’s go see your friend.”

 

~*~

 

They’d left Fitz alone in the interrogation room after what felt like hours of questions. It probably was. It felt late. Fitz was a night owl anyway and was wrung out emotionally from recounting their story, but he just felt exhausted. He didn’t know what they’d do to him. If Beckett and Castle were crooked they’d turn him over to Boston and likely get a nice payoff. If not… Could there actually be hope of going back?

 

He couldn’t even think about it. Hope, when living on the streets, was a fruitless, heartbreaking emotion that didn’t serve anyone. Occasionally he could hear people out in the hall, and it made him wonder where Jemma was, if she was safe. God, if he’d caused any more trouble for her by telling the truth… Fitz already despised himself for that; the guilt had been eating him alive for months. Add on the realizations from earlier and the engineer was sunk into his own thoughts and feeling desperate to do something right.

 

Keys clanked against the doorframe, drawing Fitz’ attention, and he leapt to his feet when someone pushed Jemma into the room with him before locking the door behind her. His eyes tracked to the two way mirror and the microphone on the table, but from the look on Jemma’s face she was heedless of both things.

 

Jemma stumbled into the room, sucking in a quick breath when she saw him as relief flooded through her at seeing he was all right. He’d been so mistreated in Boston that she had half expected to see him sporting a black eye or a split lip, conveniently doled out while the cameras malfunctioned. Instead he merely looked weary and so her relief quickly gave way to her initial frustration.

 

“Oh, Fitz!” she lamented, crossing the room, her hands cupped loosely around around her neck. “We were supposed to keep quiet! What the hell happened?!”

 

This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with any sort of audience, especially when Jemma was irritated with him. Even though they bickered often, loudly arguing their points on a variety of topics, there was almost never heat behind it. Right now, he couldn’t be sure an argument would be quite so innocent. Not after everything they’d been through the last several months. “Doesna really matter now, does it? I told them the truth,” he said flatly.

 

As much as he’d wanted to see Jemma, he didn’t want it to be like this. Fitz caught Jemma’s gaze and deliberately shifted to the microphone, hoping she’d latch onto his thoughts as she usually did. He didn’t think they’d be released tonight, and they were too young to be put into the common holding cells… Fitz could only hope they’d be put in the same room. He’d gotten too used to the weight of her at his side at night and didn’t sleep well when she wasn’t in reach. They could talk then, privately, if they had that opportunity.

 

If not… it would just have to wait. He’d already given Beckett and Castle everything. Fitz wouldn’t give them this, too.

 

She wasn’t so angry as to be unable to read Fitz. Jemma’s eyes darted to the microphone and she curled her lips inward, biting on them to keep herself from saying anything further. It also gave her the chance to really examine her best friend, and once she did, all of the fight went out of Jemma.

 

Fitz’ shoulders were slumped and his face lowered, every inch the dejected man. She had no idea what they had said or done to make him talk, but Jemma could feel her anger redirect toward the detectives that were surely on the other side of the glass. They may not have marked her partner visibly, but there was some emotional wound lurking. Without saying a word, Jemma dragged one of the chairs to the other side of the table and sat beside Fitz. She slipped her hand around his and gave it a light squeeze; there was plenty she wanted to say, but it could wait. Right now, just being there would have to be enough.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“They’re not our killers.”

 

Three pairs of skeptical eyes swung around to Castle, and he had to fight to keep himself from rolling his eyes. With how often he’d been correct about these things, he thought he’d earn the benefit of the doubt. Apparently not.

 

“Castle,” Beckett began, voice tense with forced patience, “you can’t make those kinds of assumptions.”

 

“Look at them! Those are not hardened killers. Those are scared kids. Smart kids, but scared ones.”

 

He gestured through the two way mirror where the two - Fitz and Simmons, he forced himself to remember - sat huddled together. Despite their surroundings, it was a surprisingly tender moment between the two, even with the girl’s anger. In truth, Castle wasn’t surprised after the story they’d told them. To go from MIT wunderkinds to street urchins would be quite the crucible; no wonder they clung to each other.

 

Looking at Beckett it seemed clear that she agreed, even if she couldn’t say it. Still, she lingered long enough over the idea to reassure Castle that she was considering the idea. He may not like her decision, but good police work would win out. It always did with his Kate.

 

“Look, Castle… you may be right, but we can’t make assumptions. We’ve had them for six hours. We get 42 more with them.” Breaking his gaze, she looked over at Espo and Ryan. “Put them in holding. The isolated ones in back. At the very least, we can give them a quiet night.”

 

With that the two other men left observation, leaving Beckett and Castle to watch through the glass as they went into the interrogation room and pulled the two young scientists to their feet. “Kate-”

 

“I know, Castle.” She cut him off abruptly, her tone final. With Ryan and Esposito out of the room, she’d allowed herself to soften, her shoulders slumping and frustration written plainly across her face. She didn’t like what she had to do, either, and Castle found comfort in that. “But we still have a murderer on the loose, and we have to rule them out. If nothing else, at least here they’ll be safe.”

 

~*~

 

Fitz didn’t protest when the officers came to move them. The worst damage was done now, anything could happen. Resisting them would only piss them off and cause more trouble. Jemma was being brought along, too, which made him feel a little better. He glanced over at her as they wound their way through a maze of hallways and through a barred door flanked by guards.

 

They both recoiled at the sight of cells, even though they were quickly led away from the common cells at the front to a quieter area in the back. These were small, clearly meant for one person each, and the officers motioned them into adjoining cells. It was better than nothing, Fitz admitted inwardly, but he couldn’t help pacing the space restlessly as the doors were locked behind them and the officers left them in silence.

 

“This is all my faul’,” Fitz muttered under his breath. He couldn’t quite shake the guilt of causing so much trouble for other people, or the anger at himself. He’d been so naive, and then once he was in it, even a genius level intellect couldn’t get him out. He was only one person - sixteen at the time - and they were many and powerful. Helplessness didn’t sit well with him, it never had, and being in a cell, left to wait for whatever was coming, was even worse because of the woman in the cell beside his.

 

It wasn’t fair. Jemma hadn’t asked for this and yet she’d stuck with him through the worst months of their lives. Whatever happened now, he probably deserved it. Jemma though… he’d give anything to give her back what he’d cost her.

 

“Fitz,” Jemma began, clearly exasperated. They’d been over this time and time again, and there was a part of her that was tired of reassuring him that she didn’t think it was his fault. To add to it, she was just plain tired. Neither of them had slept well since going on the run - funny how being hunted had that effect on one’s sleep patterns - and she had just endured another round of questioning in police custody. Jemma, who had thrived on rules prior to this and had never seen the inside of a police vehicle, was suddenly all too familiar with the wrong side of the American legal system.

 

Watching him pace agitated her all the more, leaving Jemma with a sharper edge to her voice than she’d intended. “Fitz, we’ve gone over this. This is no one’s fault, and dwelling on it and insisting on taking the blame won’t do us any good. We’re stuck here. That’s it.”

 

On top of everything else, Jemma’s sharp tone and scolding words were too much. Something had to give and Fitz’ temper was it. He rounded on her, eyes blazing and bright, ready to do battle. Jemma clearly didn’t understand and he hated when they were out of sync with each other. “If I hadna been so bloody determined t’ be the best I’d never have been asked t’ be in the program in the first place, an’ then I got you caught up in it.”

 

Fitz went back to his pacing, a caged animal clearly agitated and unready to settle. “There were signs everywhere that things weren’t right but I didna want t’ see them. So dinna sit there an’ tell me it’s not my fault. I could have gotten out before I asked you t’ come down an’ look at my results, before we overheard them talking about the plans for the project.”

 

“That is entirely irrelevant to our current situation!” Jemma growled as she took a step closer to the bars her cell shared with Fitz’. She was tired of hearing about what had happened in Boston; it was bad enough that it had upset their entire lives, but dwelling on it wasn’t going to help them in the least. Neither was being in a jail cell, for that matter.

 

“If there’s _anything_ you should be sorry for, it should be talking! Why would you say anything? They had _nothing_! If we’d kept quiet, we’d be out of here, and we could be on our way to somewhere - _anywhere_ \- else!”

 

“Because _they found us_ ,” Fitz snarled out, his fear displaying itself as anger as it often did. As many times as the adults in his life had betrayed him, he still wanted to believe in people, and something about Beckett and that Latino cop had struck him as trustworthy in all the ways that the ones in Boston hadn’t. It wasn’t just about Jemma. Selfishly, Fitz wanted his life back. He’d never appreciated his cramped dorm room until he hadn’t had a roof over his head at all. Or food in his always ravenous belly.

 

That didn’t matter at the moment though, not with Jemma brassed off at him and the truth burning a hole in his gut. "Four kids, Jemma. _Four_. They all look like us,” he gritted out. She needed to understand that he hadn’t just made a spur of the moment decision to put them at risk again. “All killed the same damn way he said he'd kill you if I didna cooperate. They've _found us_ , despite everythin', and they'll find us again. It’s bad enough four innocent people are dead without worryin' that I'll get you killed, too!"

 

The last bit spilled out of him without thought, and Fitz drew up sharply, his expression freezing even as his eyes filled. He hadn’t meant to say that. Not aloud, and definitely not to her. Jemma was his best friend and had already gone through more than enough for him and with him. Putting his own guilt onto her was inexcusable.

 

Jemma’s jaw dropped as she listened to Fitz rant, entirely disbelieving of what she was hearing. They hadn’t told her there’d been four murders, although she hadn’t exactly given them the opportunity. She’d been too busy stonewalling them to let them get a word in edgewise, but Fitz… Fitz they had hit emotionally. He didn’t seem like it to outsiders, with his somewhat grumpy demeanor and sharp tongue, but he had a tender heart beneath that, and Jemma felt hers sink when she heard his words catch on the word “you.”

 

It chilled her to the bone to realize she’d been threatened. Her hazel eyes, wide with fear and tears forming on the lower lashes, locked onto Fitz’ blue for a moment before she spun around and sat cross legged on her bunk, her narrow back pressed against the bars as she tried to calm her now-pounding heart.

 

Jemma could remember the dead, gray eyes of the man who’d been sent to threaten them, and now her overactive imagination couldn’t help but combine that image with the sight of the body in the warehouse. Only now, instead of a lone female, there were two bodies: hers and Fitz’. Her tears began to flow down her cheeks and her body shook as she tried to erase the image of her friend, bloody and lifeless on a concrete floor, from her mind.

 

He expected Jemma to fire back at him, to yell that it wasn’t his place to protect her or hide the threat that was made on her life. To see her immediately back down was shocking, but the glimpse of tears in her eyes had him pained and confused. Fitz hated when she cried, much less when he’d caused it. He’d gotten far less awkward about being close to her since they’d gone on the run, by necessity, but when he’d caused her pain… Fitz never knew how or what he should do to fix it.

 

Turning back to his pacing, Fitz knotted his fingers into his hair but only made a few passes before he gave up on the effort. Jemma’s still form, back turned to him against the bars, drew him like a magnet. Climbing onto his own cot, Fitz sat mirroring her, leaning back against the same section of bars. He was close enough that Jemma’s soft sniffles were clearly audible, twisting his heart up in his chest. “‘M sorry, Jem,” Fitz said softly, not knowing what else to say.

 

Jemma twisted her fingers in her lap and gave a humorless laugh. “It’s not your fault, Fitz. None of it.” Some might say as much as a form of appeasement, but she meant every word. They had only known each other for a year, but she had no doubt Fitz cared for her and would do anything for her. She felt the same about him, without reservation.

 

His presence against her back was warm and reassuring, and Jemma found herself longing for firmer contact with him. She’d struggled with sleeping on the street at first, jerking awake at every sound no matter how secure their nest and shivering through even the warmest nights. Fitz’ remedy had been to wrap his arms around her one night and offer his shoulder as a pillow. She needed that contact now more than ever.

 

Wiping her hands on the knees of her ratty jeans, Jemma slipped her arm back through the bars so she could at least touch him. It was a small gesture, and the angle was awkward on her shoulder and wrist, but she found his elbow and held on anyway. “It’s bad, Fitz, and everything’s a nightmare… but I’m glad I’m with you.”

 

At the touch of Jemma’s hand on his arm, Fitz’ other hand immediately moved to rest over hers, and a moment later turned part way around so he could look at her. “Me too,” Fitz agreed quickly. He couldn’t imagine going through this alone. Jemma had kept him sane, and they’d stumbled through life on the streets together. Having each other had likely kept them both from ending up dead for the multitude of other perils that usually befell street kids.

 

Jemma still wasn’t looking at him, and Fitz broke her hold on him to lean his side against the bars, reaching through to squeeze her shoulder. “Are- are you okay? I know I wasna supposed t’ talk, but… I want t’ go home, Jem. I know we’ve done okay, but I dinna want this t’ be our lives from now on, y’ know?”

 

The cot creaked with Fitz as he shifted, pulling Jemma’s attention around. She shuffled awkwardly on the scratchy wool comforter so she could face him, too. A part of her was dimly horrified that he was seeing her this way with red, puffy eyes and a runny nose. It certainly wasn’t her most charming or flattering appearance and Jemma found herself shaking her head at herself. Fitz had seen both the best and worst of her, and for whatever reason, he hadn’t turned away from her yet.

 

Suddenly and without warning, the events of the past four days caught up with Jemma, draining her of her energy. She slid her arm back through the bars, ignoring the disappointed look it drew from Fitz and arranging herself on top of the covers. Then, before she could over thinking, she snaked it back through and reached for Fitz, tugging gently.

 

“It’s been a long day,” she whispered. “Come here and lie down with me. Please? It… it won’t be as nice as the hotel, but at least it’s something.”

 

He still hadn’t seen a clock, but it had to be well into the wee hours of the morning by now. Sleep would be nice, Fitz admitted to himself. Curling up on the thin cot, he kept his fingers twined firmly with Jemma’s as he settled on his side, his arm stretched up to meet hers at the barrier between them. “The hotel was nice,” Fitz admitted, sounding wistful. It had been the best sleep he’d gotten in months, curled up in the small twin bed with her.

 

Fitz tried not to remind himself that there’d be no need for any of that once they were safe again. It was selfish, but he’d regret the loss of that closeness with her. “Go t’ sleep. We can talk more later.”

 

Jemma sleepily nuzzled into the thin pillow, an involuntary smile turning up the corners of her mouth as she began to drift off. “Good night,” she slurred into the space between them. “Sweet dreams.” With that, she was fast asleep.

 


	6. Chapter 6

If the scientists had thought their interrogation painful, it was only because they had yet to experience the full pleasures of life in holding. Jemma had to struggle to remind herself that they were actually lucky; as minors, they’d been placed in an entirely separate area and hadn’t had to deal with any of the others who had spent the night in police custody. Boredom was a very real danger, however, and she and Fitz had begun challenging each other to solve various made up equations in between the wellness checks. However, they both sat up straighter though when Detective Ryan came in, and they went to their feet in unison when he began unlocking their doors.

 

“Does this mean you caught him? We can go?”

 

Fitz nearly echoed the question until he saw Ryan’s face. Cops weren’t exactly known for being expressive, but the man’s face was especially flat and devoid of emotion even compared to the previous night. He looked like he hadn’t slept and was more than a little grim. “Somethin’ tells me he’s not here t’ give us good news,” the Scot muttered, half under his breath.  

 

He knew Jemma heard him from her quick intake of breath, and they were both silent as they followed the man and his partner back through the halls. Fitz shifted closer to Jemma’s side, his arm brushing hers. Either they’d be let go - or they’d be turned over to the very people they were running from. Which suddenly felt like the more likely possibility. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Fitz trusted the wrong people.

 

The rest of the team’s faces didn’t bode any better when they were herded into a conference room.

 

Faced with all of those grim stares, Jemma did the first thing that came to mind when she thought of seeking comfort: she grabbed for Fitz’ hand and squeezed. It hadn’t occurred to her that they’d be sent back to Boston and into the arms of their pursuers, thankfully. If it had, she may have tried to bolt. Instead she merely let out a shaky breath and asked, “What happened?”

 

“There’s been another murder.”

 

Jemma noticed that Beckett couldn’t meet her eyes as she spoke, and it made her all the more nervous. If she’d learned anything about these people it was that they were direct and seemed dedicated to doing good work. Her hesitancy was telling.

 

“A boy, this time. Slight, with fair, curly hair.” Jemma gasped and made to step back, but her grip on Fitz kept her from going too far. She listened as they took turns explaining that this meant they would no longer be held at the station. There was no way they could have committed this murder, and as such, the 12th had moved off of them as potential suspects. They were free to go as soon as they got through processing.

 

Jemma gladly followed behind Esposito as he guided them toward processing, maintaining her grip on Fitz the entire time. They were getting out. They’d have to run again, most likely, but they were getting out. Turning to face her friend, she saw that he was even more pale than usual. With an apologetic look to the woman who was working behind the counter, Jemma tugged him to the side and stepped into him.

 

“Fitz? Fitz, what’s wrong? This is good news, yeah? We’re getting out.”

 

“People are still _dyin_ ’ because o’ me, Jemma!” Fitz hissed, getting even more upset by putting the thought into words. He glanced around to be sure no one was close enough to listen in and frowned. “They’re lettin’ us go. T’ do what? Go back on the street an’ help asshole kids get better grades?” Fitz’ skin flushed with his frustration, his fingers knotting into his hair as they’d done the night before when he was pacing. It was an obvious tell, but he couldn’t help it. It somehow made him feel better.

 

And yet, in this case it didn’t. The situation was too serious and Fitz had meant it when he told Jemma he wanted his life back. He couldn’t just walk about of this precinct and go about his business knowing they had a target on their back and others might still be hurt… Or he and Jemma might end up dead. “They’re going to find us, sooner or later.”

 

The look on his face told Jemma that there was no possible way he could continue this way. She knew both of them had been at the end of their rope, barely holding it together as they lived day to day and plastered phony smiles on their faces. Those smiles were gone now, and she could see tears forming in Fitz’ eyes. That naked emotion punched her in the gut and, heedless of the members of the NYPD milling about them, Jemma flung her arms around his waist.

 

With her face tucked against his neck, she whispered, “I’ll fix this. Hold on,” before releasing him and striding across the room to where the Castle and Beckett were conversing near the detective’s desk.

 

“How is it that there is still no evidence?” Beckett lamented, focused on the murder board. She was the picture of frustration, her lower lip caught between her teeth and hands on her hips.

 

“He’s a professional,” Castle supplied as he rifled through papers on the desk, “he’s not the first one to commit a murder and make sure there was no evidence of it after.”

 

“It’s too sloppy, Castle. Why not dispose of the body, too? No, it’s part of a game of some sort.”

 

“Then we need to figure it out, catch him before he takes out any more kids.”

 

An idea occurred to Jemma as she listened to them, and she interrupted before she lost her nerve. “Give him us.” Wide, disbelieving eyes swung around to her, and she licked her lips and pressed on before they could laugh at her outright. “He wants us, right? That’s the theory, since he’s grabbing kids that look like us? So, give him the real thing. Put us out there, and let him try. Just don’t let him succeed.”

 

Fitz had followed Jemma instinctively, wary of the bright, determined glint in her eyes when she’d pulled back from their hug. Sure enough, he hated the idea. She was suggesting the police use them as bait. Fitz suddenly understood what she’d meant about fixing it, but this was not what he’d meant. Even seeing her logic, the part of him that had lived afraid for all these months and was terrified of something happening to her rejected it immediately.

 

“Jemma. Jemma, no. What are y’-”  And yet, as it sank in, Fitz knew it might be their only choice. The police were putting them back on the streets, they wouldn’t be protected and the murderer was still out there. His eyes fixed on Beckett, knowing she’d be the one to accept or reject Jemma’s suggestion. Swallowing hard, he waited. His hands were shaking, Fitz realized dimly, only then realizing the rest of him was, too.

 

Beckett hated the idea as soon as she heard it, but she also saw that the girl was right. This might be their only chance to catch their killer without another kid losing his or her life. Purposefully ignoring Castle - given his preference for crime thrillers, she had no doubt her husband would love the idea of two kids teaming up with the NYPD to take down their pursuer - so she wouldn’t be sway, she considered the two carefully.

 

Even though she’d suggested it, she could see the indecision in Simmons’ eyes. She wouldn’t back down now, but even she wasn’t fully convinced of her plan. It was more a wild shot in the dark. And wild though it may be, it also seemed more than likely to work.

 

“We’d have to talk to one of the shelters… you’d need to be guaranteed a bed every night. It’ll make it easier for us to cover you and for our killer to find the two of you.”

 

Jemma had begun nodding as Beckett spoke, easing into it now that she knew she had the team leader’s backing. It wouldn’t be easy or a walk in the park, but their ordeal was coming to an end. Facing Fitz, she saw the hesitation written plainly on his face and frowned. “It’s not ideal, Fitz. I know that. But I don’t see many other solutions. I think… I think if we ever want a chance of making it back to our old lives, this is it.”

 

Fitz shook his head at Beckett’s suggestion. “Tha’s a terrible idea,” he blurted out, his brain scrambling through logic. “There’s bound t’ be lots of other kids around and you’d have to try an’ keep them all out of the way. Wouldn’t y’ want an area where you can control who comes in an’ out?” The whole thing was a bad idea. Using them as _bait_. He couldn’t get past that little fact, but setting them up at a shelter with so many people around. Worse, a place that was supposed to be safer than hiding out in some abandoned hulk in the city…

 

He’d spent enough time in the last months being scared and alone that Fitz hesitated to help the police destroy that illusion, especially for the younger kids. It was for his own sake too, because if he was going to feel guilty for the deaths he hadn’t known about until last night, then knowingly adding that many more potential victims was even worse. He already felt sick and shaky, and his stomach gave a slow roll at the idea of putting himself, and Jemma, and an untold number of other kids into danger.

 

His shoulders hunched at the number of eyes suddenly on him, taking a step back and feeling as if he shouldn’t have opened his mouth. “Nevermin’ then. Carry on. You’re the professionals. Us. Bait,” Fitz muttered.

 

“He’s got a point, Kate.”

 

Castle’s protest was low, meant only for her ears. He’d learned long ago that challenging his wife in a way that would discount her authority was the surest way to get her to dig her heels in. A quiet observation, however, was more apt to get her wheels turning in another direction. And now, when she was so focused on catching a killer before he got to his next victim, she needed gentle prodding more than ever.

 

Beckett nibbled her lower lip and looked between the three of them, considering. Perhaps she’d been too hasty. There were too many variables at a shelter, not the least of which were the people involved. The boy was thinking about their safety, but Beckett had long learned that poor people - and those who felt they were underpaid and undervalued - were more than happy to pass along information or look the other way for a few bills slipped into their palms.

 

Her eyes went back to the murder board, hoping for a solution but not expecting to find one. Just as she was ready to resolve herself to having to go along with a deeply flawed plan when her eyes caught on it. The warehouse. She yanked the picture down and turned to show them.

 

“What are the odds this place is still empty?

 

“The warehouse?” Jemma’s brows rose as she gingerly took the picture from the older woman. “It’s only been a few days. Most of the kids are going to be avoiding it, I’d imagine. Looking for beds in shelters and other buildings.” A chill crept down the girl’s back as she realized what the detective was likely going to ask of them. She didn’t want to sleep where there had been a dead body only a few days prior, but she saw the logic. Fewer witnesses meant the killer would be more apt to act, and there would be fewer variables. Now that Jemma thought about it, it was the perfect place to set a trap.

 

~*~

 

Even knowing they had a tail all day and the warehouse was staked out prior to their arrival each night, it still creeped Fitz out. He couldn’t help but see phantom images of the dead girl’s body on the floor in the room where they’d found her, and avoided that area as much as he could. Once Beckett’s team had done their prep work, he and Jemma had decided to sleep on the upper level, even though it took some work to get to.

 

Or perhaps because of that. No point in giving their killer an easy route to find them, if he showed up there.

 

The first night was awkward. With the memory of the nights at the hotel fresh in his mind, he wanted to draw her close now they didn’t have a wall of bars between them. Knowing there were eyes on them stilled his hands. They both fell into restless sleep side by side, Fitz watching Jemma in the darkness long after she’d finally drifted off. They woke up tangled together, avoiding the knowing smirk from Esposito when they passed him in his undercover gear leaving the warehouse.

 

The second day Fitz and Jemma picked up new customers at the NYU library and spent the day in their element, researching and bantering with each other as they found new information and compiled outlines for the papers. It still bothered Fitz, but his worry about the warehouse and the potential for a run-in with the chief of security overrode that. Instead he fidgeted and fussed, tapping a pen against a book incessantly until Jemma stilled him, then switched to jiggling his leg under the table.

 

When they both got hungry late in the afternoon, Fitz tugged Jemma toward a hot dog cart to grab a cheap meal and they wandered into Washington Square. It was rush hour, most people were heading home from work, and the park reflected that. College kids were hurrying off, white collar workers were coming in with dogs to be walked and the occasional small child. Stalking a few of the benches whose current occupants appeared to be wrapping things up, Fitz was soon able to nab one for them.

 

Periodically throughout the day, Jemma had found herself studying Fitz whenever she thought he might not be looking. The simple truth was that she was worried about her friend. While he typically worked best on the move, his fidgeting now seemed less productive and more the result of being worried. Although, Jemma supposed she couldn’t blame him for that. They were currently being hunted, and she had offered them up as bait.

 

Which was why if she sat a bit closer than was strictly necessary, Jemma did her best to not make much of it. They were friends sharing a quick bite to eat and only had half a bench to work with, to boot. It had nothing to do with the fact she’d woken up tangled up with him that morning, or the way the memory caused her stomach to flip pleasantly. Nothing at all.

 

Jemma unwrapped her hot dog, nudging Fitz’ shoulder to get his attention as she did so. “This might be a terrible thing to say, but… I kind of wish they’d hurry up and get on with it.” As much as she didn’t relish having to face an attempt on her life, she’d rather it be over and done with so the entire thing could be resolved.

 

“No, I get it,” Fitz said immediately. He was relieved that she understood; of course Jemma noticed that he was fidgeting and out of sorts. “I hate waitin’ anyway, y’ know that.” Jemma had learned their first week as lab partners that he was impatient and grumpy.

 

Fitz shifted his weight on the bench, turning a little to give Jemma more room beside him as he peeled the foil back from his own hot dog, loaded with mustard and onions. “I jus’ want all this t’ be over with, but I keep thinkin’ that even if they catch him, there’s still the rest of it in Boston tha’ needs t’ be dealt with,” the Scot said quietly, glancing around him. Esposito was still tailing them, although Fitz had quickly learned that the man was hard to spot, often changing things about his appearance over the course of the day.

 

He was hoping that if this all turned out well Beckett and their team could give them some sort of direction on how to handle that situation. They couldn’t do it themselves, since it wasn’t in New York and far out of their jurisdiction, but perhaps they could put Fitz and Jemma in contact with someone who could actually help. Breaking down a corrupt police force wasn’t something to take lightly, after all.

 

“I guess we both need to learn: one step at a time.”

 

Without realizing she was doing it she scooted closer to him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Jemma gave Fitz a genuine smile before biting into her meal. As basic as it was, the snap of the casing and tang of the mustard was satisfying, and if she blocked out their circumstances Jemma could almost pretend that they were just two friends on holiday enjoying a quick bite to eat in a park. It would have been a nice day for it, too, sunny and just warm enough to be comfortable.

 

As it was, even the bright sunshine couldn’t put a positive spin on the situation and Jemma found herself voicing a grim reality between bites. “We need to get out of this first. Then we can worry about Boston. Or whatever may come next.” As much as she knew America presented a better opportunity for them both, part of her wondered how Fitz would feel if she suggested going home to the UK instead of merely returning to Boston.

 

Fitz sighed and shook his head, feeling worn down and yet still nervous. His toe was tapping again, silent against the packed dirt under his feet, shoulders tense. The waiting was wearing on him, and even with some sort of light at the end of the tunnel they were still living on the street. Sleeping in an abandoned warehouse without proper bedding or anything much besides each other. Using their battered backpacks as pillows. It was exhausting, being homeless, Fitz thought as he made his way through his own hot dog and then into the bag of crisps he’d gotten with it.

 

“Sometimes it feels like MIT was never meant t’ be, y’ know?” Fitz said softly, crumpling the paper and foil from his food into a small ball. “Like I should jus’ forget about goin’ back. Find somethin’ else t’ do besides bein’ an engineer.” He hated the idea, and the flat tone of his voice reflected that. The little voice inside his head kept putting that thought forward though, and just like his guilt, Fitz had embraced the insidious idea.

 

Half a year, or hell, even a month ago, Jemma would have protested Fitz’ sad question. She would have rushed to reassure him that being an MIT-trained engineer was exactly who he was meant to be, and that he’d back to it sooner rather than later. The problem was, she was having trouble believing it herself. With where they were it was hard to believe that either of them would return to the brilliant futures that had once been promised them.

 

Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, Jemma crumpled the foil wrapper up in one hand and reached for Fitz with the other. Her fingers curled around his knee and she gave a small squeeze. “After all you’ve been through… Fitz, you were meant to be there. I believe that. We’ll get back.”

 

Fitz’ lips pressed together tightly, the skin going white around them from the pressure. He wished he had Jemma’s optimism, but their entire lives had been derailed. Even the small things that shouldn’t have mattered felt like salt in a wound. Like what had happened to his things when he and Jemma had gone missing? Someone would have had to clean out their dorms. His laptop was likely gone, and the little TARDIS figurine she’d given him for Christmas. His photos from home. The hard drive with all his designs on it. Even his own clothes. God knew what his Mum thought, with him missing for all this time. She’d be furious when she found out the truth.

 

They were a year behind on their degrees, and if anyone discovered what they’d been up to here in New York, their careers would be over even before they started. Assisting in academic dishonesty was still unethical, no matter the reasons behind it. Maybe Jemma had been right before, they should have run further and faster, gone to another city and put more miles between themselves and Boston and truly started over. The Scot swallowed hard, struggling not to get emotional, especially not here in the middle of a crowded park. “I dunno, Jem. How do we go back, knowin’ the things we know now?”

 

Ignoring the fact that someone - be it Esposito, Ryan, or any of the other cops Beckett had put on their tail - was likely watching them, Jemma took her hand off Fitz’ knee so she could wrap her arm around him. It was an awkward half-hug, but she sank everything into it, pressing her torso against his arm and laying her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t much but just being near him made her feel better, even with their current circumstances.

 

“We’re smart. We’ll figure it out.” Jemma’s words were muffled by his jacket, but when she felt her friend shift against her she knew Fitz had heard them. “As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.” Those words had been true even before now, but going on the run with Fitz had proven it time and time again. Because of that, her words rang true, even in their dire circumstances.  

 

Even knowing Jemma was likely right - she almost always was - Fitz was still worried. The hug helped though, and Fitz shyly gave Jemma a tug in his direction. Although they’d snuggled together to sleep often enough, being affectionate during their waking hours was still something he was getting used to. She ended up in his lap, which wasn’t what Fitz expected, but wasn’t unwelcome either.

 

He slipped his arms around Jemma’s waist and ducked his head against her shoulder. “I hope you’re righ’, Jem,” he muttered, the words half-lost in the noise of the city around them. While he might never be that same young, naive college student again, there had to be a way forward. He simply couldn’t see it yet because what lay in his immediate future was so huge - and dangerous.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Slipping onto Fitz’ lap hadn’t been an initial part of her plan, but when he’d tugged her closer Jemma had seen an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. She had always been inclined toward physical demonstrations of affection and Fitz’ recent acceptance had been enough of a green light for her. Without thinking much of it, Jemma brought her free hand up to play with his curls, taking comfort in the easy way he leaned into her touch and held her close. There were a dozen other things dancing on the tip of her tongue that she could say, but just being near him was enough.

 

They lingered on the bench, ignoring the curious looks of the people passing by until a breeze kicked up and made Jemma shiver. Her arms loosened around Fitz, allowing her to pull back from him just enough to give him a small, almost sad, smile. “C’mon. We should get out of here before it gets too late.”

 

Fitz sighed quietly, his shoulders lifting and then falling in rapid succession. He wasn’t ready to go back to the warehouse, but he was even less willing to argue with Jemma, even knowing she had a point. If they let it get dark before they got back, there were a couple dark, secluded areas they’d have to pass through where it would be difficult for their tail to protect them should something happen.  

 

At least by sticking to NYU it meant they only had to walk back. Columbia, their other (and most lucrative) hunting ground, was on the Upper West Side, a long way from the dark corners of Alphabet City. Still, Fitz was wary, trying to be observant as they returned to the warehouse and as it turned out, it may have saved their arses. Manhattan was all one way streets and long blocks, and Fitz noticed when the same late model car reappeared for a third time behind them, the high end brand standing out in this neighborhood.

 

“Jemma,” Fitz said quietly, “Dinna look, but I think we’re bein’ followed. I know it’s out o’ our way, but turn right up the next block, alrigh’?” It would send them up a block against traffic and block the car from following them. If he saw it again - it wouldn’t take long to circle the block and come back around to them - Fitz would know for sure. He wished there was a way to communicate to their tail, be sure he’d noticed it as well, but a furtive glance showed an empty sidewalk behind them, the cop nowhere in sight.

 

Fitz’ tone set every nerve in her body on edge, and Jemma had to suck in a deep breath through her teeth to keep her panic from showing visibly. It wouldn’t do to let on she was scared if someone was following them. The only concession Jemma made to her nerves was reaching for Fitz’ hand, squeezing it tighter than was strictly necessary to keep her hands from shaking. It was a large city, after all, and it was more likely than not that it was nothing other than their active imaginations.

 

Jemma kept repeating that story to herself as Fitz directed her through the city, her gaze carefully directed on the pavement in the vain hope of making whatever he’d seen disappear. She knew her childish wish hadn’t been granted when she felt him tense beside her, and quickly looked up. The car was impossibly shiny - down here it seemed that every car, even the nice ones had at least a bit of rust or a few strips of duct tape - and entirely ominous.

 

“Fitz,” she began, her voice wavering with her burgeoning panic, “what do we do?”

 

Jemma’s grip on his hand helped steady Fitz, despite the fact that she was now just as nervous and shaky as he was. If anything, it made him feel better and more certain knowing that she was relying on him to get them out of this. Fitz couldn’t let her down.

 

Thinking quickly, Fitz did his best to behave relatively normally, although at the next corner he slowed to peer at the street signs and addresses, pretending to be a little lost. He wasn’t really, he just needed to be sure they were on the block he thought they were. Many of the alleys led to gardens and hidden areas in the middle of the blocks, but not all of them had other outlets. He and Jemma had hidden in a few of those before they’d discovered that the junkies ruled many of those areas.

 

He didn’t know all of them though, and he’d have to take a chance. If they turned again it would be obvious they were on to the driver’s ploy. And put Fitz and Jemma on the long side of a block, out in the open until they could find a hiding place. If the driver decided to abandon the car and follow them on foot, they’d have to bolt. It wasn’t a good choice either way, and Fitz still couldn’t be sure what their police tail was doing. He’d been avoiding looking over his shoulder too much.

 

“We’re going t’ make the next turn. He’ll know we’re on to him then,” Fitz said, his voice tight with fear. “We’ll have t’ hurry an’ find a place t’ hide unless y’ have a better idea.”

 

Jemma nodded, thankful for Fitz’ direction. It gave her something to focus on, which she desperately needed to keep her impending panic at bay. The corner came before she was ready for it and they both turned in lockstep, both tense and waiting to see what would happen.

 

For one, blissful moment Jemma thought they’d gotten away. She didn’t hear the sound of an engine revving, or a door opening, and she turned to Fitz with a smile and the intention to celebrate. She should have known better and her hope was dashed by the sound of a slamming car door. Without speaking they both took off, running blindly in the hopes of outrunning whoever it was behind them. Jemma sent up a senseless, desperate prayer that their tail was nearby, or at least close enough to get to them before… she shook her head and kept running, trying to put everything she had into keeping her legs pumping.

 

They turned another corner only for Jemma to realize they’d turned into a blind alley. There was no way she’d be able to scale it, and she skidded to a halt to tell Fitz to go on without her. Better he make it out instead of dying here, and she would have told him as much if he hadn’t yanked her into a tiny nook she’d missed in her panic. After months of eating sporadically, they were both thin enough to fit easily into the miniscule space, and Jemma found herself sandwiched between Fitz and a cold brick wall.

 

Fitz hoped and prayed that wouldn’t be the case, that whoever was chasing them wouldn’t get out of the car, wouldn’t expose themselves in the middle of the city. Just as he thought they were in the clear, he heard the slam of the door, too, grabbed for Jemma’s hand and took off. Even though he was in better shape now than he’d been when they left MIT, it still wasn’t easy. By the time Fitz turned them into the alley, he was gasping for air, muscles burning.

 

His adrenaline was up so far that the blank wall didn’t even make his heart sink, he just started looking for another way, and found in it in the uneven gap between two buildings. What might have been a service entrance at some point was now bricked over, but it was also small and dark and set into an uneven wall where it was invisible from the alley entrance.

 

Still, Fitz dropped his backpack at their feet, tugging a trashcan over to hide their legs before yanking his hood up and turning to nudge Jemma further into the shadows. With any luck, the dark canvas material would only look like more shadows at this point in the evening, hiding his light hair, her bright jacket, and their pale skin.

 

Still breathing hard, scared but hoping it had been enough to get away, Fitz looked down at Jemma. The small space forced them to press together, and he could barely see her features with the way he’d cut them off from the light with his jacket. Fitz caught the glint of Jemma’s eyes though, wide and scared, and instinctively leaned forward, wanting to comfort her.

 

The fear coursing through her was like nothing she had ever known, and Jemma clung to the front of Fitz’ jacket as he pressed close enough to feel her heart thudding heavily against her ribs. She had just turned 17. She wasn’t ready to die! She hadn’t even accomplished a fraction of the goals she’d outlined for herself - professional and personal - and now she never would. The thought broke over her like ice water, leaving her shivering.

 

At least she had Fitz. One of Jemma’s hands drifted up to cup his cheek, seeking one last moment with her friend. His stubble scratched against her fingertips as she traced the planes of his face, trying to memorize by touch what she knew so well by sight. Fitz. Fitz, who was everything she could want in a best friend and lab partner. Who had taken care of her after they went on the run. Who held her at night when their meager blankets couldn’t keep her warm.

 

Without fully realizing what she was doing, Jemma pressed up onto her toes and leaned in to him, intent on showering him with gratitude while she still could.

 

Fitz’ brain stuttered to a halt when Jemma’s fingers found his face and she leaned up. What was she-? She couldn’t be- The only thought in his head was that she was about to kiss him and it wasn’t even fair because he was utterly unprepared and it would be terrible and he’d likely accidentally bite her or do something else to make it awkward-

 

“Nice job, Fitz.” Esposito’s voice filled his ears along with the scrape of the trash can as the cop shoved it aside, signaling they were in the clear. Fitz let out a little shriek of surprise and felt Jemma flinch back, falling back onto her heels in the narrow space as the officer tugged at Fitz’ jacket, urging them out of the hole. The older man chuckled at Fitz’ reaction and shook his head as they emerged. “It took me a few minutes to find you. This was smart,” he admitted.

 

Still pumped up on adrenaline, especially with the second shock of Esposito showing up, Fitz took a second to actually formulate a response. “Uh, thanks,” he said, voice sounding thick. His pale cheeks were flushed pink and he was still out of breath from everything. A glance over at Jemma told Fitz she was feeling awkward as well, flushed and keeping her eyes averted from him. “Can we get goin’ now? I’d really like t’ get back t’ the warehouse before anythin’ else happens.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Esposito had somehow made himself look like a bum, messy and unkempt, a streak of dirt marring one cheek. “Go on. I’ll fall in behind you.”  

 

While Fitz spoke with the detective, Jemma focused on getting her heart back under control. She’d been moving purely on instinct, and had nearly kissed her best friend. Risking a glance at him, she found curious blue eyes on her and quickly fixed her eyes on the uneven pavement. Looking for anything that could serve as a distraction, she hitched her bag higher on her shoulders and wound the straps tightly about her hand as she drifted further down the alley. Hopefully the growing shadows would keep Fitz from seeing the blush on her cheeks or the regret in her eyes.

 

In all honesty, Jemma couldn’t say why her first instinct had been to kiss Fitz. She found him attractive, but it had always been an objective kind of attraction. He was slight, but he had symmetrical features and a brain that could keep up with hers. Given that, and their close friendship, it made sense on some level that she would find her objectivity giving way, particularly in a life-and-death situation.

 

Still, he hadn’t seemed enthused by the idea at all if the quick glimpse of his face before Esposito pulled them out was anything to go by. Distracted by her thoughts, Jemma trailed quietly along as Fitz guided them back toward the warehouse.

 

Even when they bickered, things were rarely awkward between them for more than a few minutes. That meant when things did get weird, it was all the more noticeable. Fitz noticed Jemma’s unusual silence quickly, but it was her continued avoidance that had him shoving his hands in his pockets and biting his tongue for the rest of the walk back to the warehouse.

 

There was no sign of the car and their pursuer, and Fitz realized Esposito hadn’t indicated what happened there. If he’d been caught, the police would have called off this whole charade, wouldn’t they? The thought weighed on him along with everything else, and Fitz found that he was just tired. Even without a proper bed or even a real room to sleep in - the cavernous spaces of the warehouse didn’t count - he’d be happy to try relaxing and letting himself drift for a while.

 

Fitz’ eyes cut over to Jemma again, lingering a step or two behind him. Her face was still and set, carefully expressionless, and it made him worry. Once they were back at the warehouse, he could talk to her properly and try to understand what she was thinking. Until then he was quiet, hurrying as much as he could without looking like he was doing so. Fitz’ illusion of safety had been stripped away again, and he didn’t want any more nasty surprises.

 

As she walked Jemma replayed the moment over in her mind, adjusting it each time to account for different variables. Still, no matter how many scenarios she played out in her mind she found that they were all unsatisfactory. The only way to know with any certainty would be to actually kiss Fitz, and while Jemma was all for the spirit of exploration and experimentation, she wasn’t sure they were quite at that stage yet. Aside from the obvious detriment of their circumstances, she wasn’t even sure she’d ever considered her best friend’s romantic potential. At the very least, she would need to formulate a hypothesis before anything else could be decided.

 

Moving with near-military precision, both Jemma and Fitz crawled up to their hideaway and began to prepare for the night. Fitz set up the alarms they’d rigged out of tin cans and the few bits of string they’d been able to find and she unpacked the two thin blankets they’d managed to steal from a shelter they were no longer welcome to enter. Fitz finished before her and Jemma watched as he sat against the far wall.

 

Even after months of seeing him ragged from living on the street, his body language troubled her. He sat with his knees before him and his head tucked into his arms. It was both defensive and vulnerable all at once, and Jemma found herself overcome by the need to be near him. Regardless of whether her feelings for him were in flux, he was still her person. She’d do anything for him, without question.

 

Crossing the space, Jemma knelt before Fitz and reached out with a gentle hand to comb her fingers through his mussed curls. It was a small gesture, but she hoped it would be enough to comfort him.

 

The adrenaline fading out of his system left Fitz weary, especially when it tacked onto the fatigue from stress and unaccustomed exertion. By the time he finished his share of the chores to get their space ready for the night, he was ready to drop, and did, against the wall where Jemma found him. The stroke of her fingers through his hair was welcomed and reassuring. Fitz had started to believe she was upset with him on the silent walk home, but she wouldn’t have touched him if that was true.

 

Tipping his head to peer up at her in the moonlight streaming through the busted windows, Fitz caught her concern for him easily. Jemma wore her emotions all over her face and the last thing he wanted was to be something else for her to worry about. He also desperately wanted to hug her with the danger past for the moment. The near-kiss in the alley made him unsure, but there was also the moment earlier on the bench, too. Jemma had been warm, a solid and cuddly weight curled in his lap that way.

 

Before he talked himself out of it, Fitz straightened and reached to tug her closer, drawing Jemma in to sit between his knees. A moment later he had his arms wrapped snug around Jemma’s slim body, clinging.

 

Jemma was more than happy to go along with it, indulging herself and permitting them a moment to try something that was new - and far more intimate. Perhaps it was the lingering effects from their moment in the alley, but this felt entirely different to her. This wasn’t the same as huddling for warmth or even pressing close for comfort. The way Fitz was clutching her - palms splayed wide on her stomach, face buried in the crook of her neck - led her to believe that her hunch was correct, and she turned that information over in her mind as his breathing slowly began to even out against her back.

 

When she realized he’d dozed off, Jemma twisted around in his arms so she could face him. That slight movement was enough to wake him. He looked so soft and affectionate that Jemma couldn't resist petting his hair once more, and with a gentle smile urged him to move to their makeshift bed. She waited for him to settle first, and once he had curled onto his side she lay next to him. It was by no means as comfortable as the cramped twin mattress they had shared a week ago, but somehow Jemma found herself thinking it was just as nice, being able to bury her face against Fitz’ chest as they drifted off to sleep.

 

“Good night, Fitz,” she whispered, voice cracking slightly on a yawn. “Sweet dreams.”

 

Fitz hadn’t meant to fall asleep there, but Jemma tipped back into his hold, quietly accepting that he needed her just then and it lulled him. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but he thought they were safe for tonight at least. Whatever Esposito had done to distract their pursuer had worked and Fitz didn’t think the man would try again so soon after, which let him relax more than he might have otherwise.

 

When Jemma woke him a little while later, he found he was shivering. It was only late September, but the nights were cool and he was grateful for the blankets she’d found and the way she kept close to him. They’d grown impossibly closer during these months, relying solely on each other, but the nights at the hotel seemed to have erased the last physical boundaries between them. At seventeen, it wasn’t as if he had any real experience with women, but Jemma didn’t seem to mind his careful hugs and awkward attention.

 

He could tell now when she drifted to sleep, familiar with the way Jemma’s small body went slack and still, her breathing even and slow. She’d tucked herself under his chin and Fitz set his nose against her hair, leaving a tiny kiss at Jemma’s hairline. Whatever that moment had been earlier, this wasn’t the time or place to consider shifting their relationship any more than it already had and Fitz knew it. Until or unless Jemma brought it up again, he wouldn’t say anything. If all this worked out… Maybe then, it would be a real possibility.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Jemma woke the next morning to the feeling of Fitz’ lips brushing against her forehead. It couldn’t honestly be called a kiss - more of an incidental skimming as he stirred - but it still set her heart beating erratically. They pulled apart reluctantly, uncertain smiles curling their lips upward, and began to prepare for their day. Still, Jemma couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of her eye as they packed up their things and crept into the slowly waking city. The boy she’d met in Boston had grown in a multitude of ways and, regardless of the way he was beginning to make her stomach flutter, she was lucky to know him. 

It wasn’t until they were approaching the subway that Jemma suggested heading to uptown to Columbia instead of working out of NYU. Fitz didn’t like the suggestion in the least, and Jemma understood why. Sticking to lower Manhattan kept them not only closer to their home base, but was also closer to the 12th Precinct if they got into trouble. It was safer in a lot of ways, but the students at NYU were also tapped out. They’d had trouble scrounging up customers and Jemma was beginning to fear they’d be caught and asked to leave by the university’s administration. As much as she didn’t like how they were making money, she preferred to keep making it instead of having to resort to stealing. 

“It’s been awhile since we’ve been up there, Fitz,” she wheedled. “They’ll be ripe for the picking. A few days of work up there, then we can go back to NYU.”

Fitz eventually agreed, although he still didn’t like the idea. When they finally left the warehouse around 10, the warm and fuzzy feeling from waking up tangled around her had faded completely. He was grumpy and out of sorts again, although he tried to hide his reaction from Jemma. It wasn’t her fault that he was so reluctant to leave their illusory bubble of safety. 

A different cop was tailing them today, and Fitz noticed him almost immediately. This one wasn’t as good at fading into the background and looking inconspicuous like Esposito had been and it was another point of irritation for the Scot. Their stalker wasn’t stupid and they were already making enough of a spectacle of themselves by staying in one place for several days now, even if it was abandoned since they’d found that girl’s body. The whole way uptown, FitzSimmons making their way over to 1st Avenue station and onto the L train and then the 1 train, this one was careful to stick close, obviously following them. 

Fitz scowled as they made their way onto the Columbia campus and slipped through a service door that the staff left open so they could get out and smoke. “This guy’s an idiot,” he muttered under his breath. “If I had a bloody phone I’d call Beckett and tell them t’ send Esposito back out - or a’ least find someone better at undercover work than him.” 

Jemma nudged him with her elbow as they climbed the stairs together, a small, humorless grin playing across her mouth. Fitz was absolutely right, as usual. She wouldn’t trust the man tailing them with her ratty old sneakers, much less her life, but she didn’t have a choice. The green officer following them was really all they had standing between them and impending death. 

“Look at it this way,” she murmured, keeping her voice pitched low to avoid the ire of the reference librarian. “At least it’s broad daylight, and we’re surrounded by witnesses. He may be an idiot, but no one’s coming after us here.” Fitz didn’t really acknowledge her comment, his mouth still set in a hardline, but Jemma let it go. They were both on high alert and would likely remain so until their stalker was caught. Whenever that might be. 

Once they reached their favorite hall the pair split up, Jemma heading toward a main table at the front of the 570 shelf while Fitz headed toward his usual study carrel just past 620. Glancing up she noticed that she could see her partner from her seat, and found herself relaxing. Just keeping in within her line of sight put Jemma at ease. That didn’t last long, though, as the students at Columbia knew exactly where to find them, and soon enough both she and Fitz were bent over piles of research, compiling outlines and starting papers. 

Between finishing up the papers for the NYU students with the additional resources available here, Fitz easily picked up three new papers to be written. None were more than 10 pages, and all were on basic concepts that he wouldn’t have even bothered to research if he didn’t need to actually include a bibliography and specific quotes in the text. 

Fitz glanced over a few times, checking that Jemma was still where he expected her to be, but for the most part he worked. Burying himself in technical texts and journals kept his mind off their current situation, and replenishing their supply of cash was a relief. If New York City wasn’t such a bloody expensive place, writing papers for these kids would actually be lucrative if he could get all the projects done this fast. 

He was so caught up that he didn’t notice the passing of hours. It wasn’t until he closed a book and leaned back to stretch out his hunched shoulders and back that Fitz realized just how quiet it was. The library was almost empty and the clock told him it was after 10pm. Fitz swore under his breath and jumped up from his chair to look anxiously for Jemma. She was sound asleep, bent over her own study carrel, and Fitz huffed out a sigh of relief even as his chest filled with affection. 

He slipped over to her, giving her shoulder a gentle shake. “Jemma. Hey, Jemma. Wake up, lass. We were supposed t’ head back to the warehouse hours ago,” he called softly. Honestly, Fitz was surprised the librarians or guards hadn’t questioned their presence long ago - much less the officer watching them. That thought brought his blue eyes up, scanning the room, but he couldn’t see the guy anywhere. Had they changed shifts or something? No one visible in the room looked like anyone he’d consider a cop and that worried him. Should they go ahead and leave when he wasn’t sure their tail was with them? 

“Fitz? What time is it?”

Jemma’s voice was garbled with sleep, and she yawned as she stretched, trying to get her blood pumping so she would be awake enough for the walk home. She hadn’t accomplished much, although she’d been able to charge double for the lab report since the boy had bungled his data so badly. 

Blinking up at Fitz, she noticed he was was tense, glancing around the library as though he were expecting someone. She frowned and pressed upward, rising half out of her seat to peek over the carrel walls, and asked, “What’s wrong? Did you see something?”

“The cop is gone,” Fitz said softly, kneeling next to her and leaning in close so he could keep his voice down. “It doesna feel right. We need t’ get out of here.” He didn’t want to alarm Jemma, but in this situation he didn’t have much choice. If they were on their own, they were in trouble. Their tail wasn’t supposed to leave them for more than a few minutes at a time and preferably not even that long. If something had happened… 

Fitz shook his head sharply, hitching his backpack up onto his shoulder. “C’mon. Grab your things so we can go.” 

His words, while quiet, still carried a note of anxiety that set all of her nerves on edge at once and Jemma rushed to do as he suggested. She shoved her few belongings into her ratty bag, slinging it over her shoulder before gathering up the books she’d been using. She haphazardly shoved them onto a rolling shelf the librarians left for used materials before hurrying after Fitz. Unlike their usual trips home, there was no chatter. Nothing about their vapid clients or the topics they’d been researching. Instead they trotted down the stairs and onto the street, pausing only to glance around and survey their surroundings. 

There was no sign of the officer who had been tailing them earlier, or anyone else who looked like they found Fitz and Jemma particularly interesting. While not unusual for a city as large as New York, Jemma found that now it only made her uneasy. “We need to hurry,” she whispered needlessly, her fingers winding around Fitz’ as he steered them toward the subway. 

He was ready to jump out of his skin, eyes searching everyone and everything around him but feeling like he wasn’t actually registering anything. This late in the evening the trains were fewer and further between and the platform was empty except for the two of them. It made Fitz wary when a man came through the turnstiles, but he barely even glanced at them before wandering toward the other end of the station. 

Thankfully a train came to a noisy stop in front of them a few minutes later and Fitz hurried Jemma into the car. There might not be anyone following them at the moment, but that didn’t mean they were safe. He nudged her toward the end of the car and into the seats nearest the operator, just in case. “I thought we could trust them,” Fitz muttered on the ride downtown, upset now that he had time to think about it. “Why the hell would he just leave us there on our own if he was assigned t’ watch us?” 

It had been a good ten minutes between when Fitz had started looking around the library for the guy and when he and Jemma left, and who knows how long he’d been gone before that. Far too long for a run to the bathroom, and there was no other real excuse for him to leave. Not with the plan they’d worked out with Beckett’s team. “I dinna know what t’ do now,” he said softly. 

Jemma licked her lips and wiped her palm on the knee of her jeans as her mind picked over their predicament. She could understand where Fitz was going. The cops in Boston had been as crooked as could be, with each and every one of them on the take. It hadn’t taken much to convince them to sell them out to the men who had been looking for them, so Jemma understood her friend’s assumption. 

But Beckett and her team hadn’t felt like that to her, not at all. She couldn’t imagine anyone they put on their watch would be the kind to be tempted by money or intimidated by a threat, which meant there was likely only one reason why their tail had disappeared. 

Jemma’s eyes flicked upward, counting down stops and their dwindling time, and then back to Fitz. She knew he was scared on some level, but it didn’t show on his face. Instead, he merely seemed to be turning over various plans in his head, playing to his strengths and allowing his genius-level intellect to find a solution. That reassured her, and Jemma found herself warmed to the bone by the thought of Fitz working to protect them both. 

“What about trying to make it to the precinct? If our tail’s gone missing, they may not know it yet.” 

“I’m no’ sure that’s a good idea, either,” Fitz said after a few beats to think about it. He was honestly lost. Even after thinking through possible ways to go, he was still unsure, left without a really good option. Of course, they could always get off the train at 42nd Street and head for the bus terminal at Port Authority, but that would mean running again. Fitz had been so hopeful that this was almost over that he rejected that one out of hand. 

His fingers snugged tighter around Jemma’s as he sighed. “Let’s go back t’ the warehouse. Someone else will be there, watchin’ the building. We can find them and let them know he disappeared on us.” If they were lucky, it was just a misunderstanding. If not… they were in that much more danger. Fitz could only wish none of this was happening and he didn’t have to think about either possibility. 

She nodded, seeing the logic of what Fitz was saying, and snugged her fingers more tightly around his as a small sign of agreement. “All right,” she murmured, leaning her shoulder into his. “I’m with you. We’ll go back to the warehouse.” The way Jemma said it made it all seem rather simple, but it felt as though it were anything but.

Still, despite the fear that was nibbling away at her, she followed Fitz off the train and onto the darkened streets. The street felt abandoned, something that made Jemma jumpy for the first time in a long while. It had taken her months to grow comfortable with the long shadows the two of them used to disguise their movements, almost until the point where it felt safer to be hidden in them than to step into the light. To have even that small comfort taken from her unsettled Jemma greatly and she found herself hunching her shoulders forward almost as if that would protect her. 

New York truly was the city that never slept, Fitz thought to himself, but at certain times and certain areas it was only true because of what lurked in the dark. Alphabet City and the East Village were bright on the corners where the bars and liquor stores lived, with long stretches of dark blocks between. And it was never truly quiet, which made it that much harder to hear anything that might be a danger. 

Fitz was the one to catch Jemma’s hand this time. His fingers tangled with hers, wanting the reassurance of knowing she was right there with him, same as she’d always been. To feel like he was doing something to keep her safe. They couldn’t even hurry in this area, because that would draw more attention to them than actually doing something wrong. 

He was relieved when they turned onto the block with the warehouse, even though Fitz was still so stressed he felt like he was going to vomit up what little was in his stomach. The sight of Esposito, back into his grubby homeless persona, was welcome, and Fitz hurriedly tugged Jemma toward him, heedless of anyone who might be watching them now. “Whoever that arsehole was you all assigned to us today bailed,” Fitz growled. “I thought y’ all were going t’ protect us. We had t’ get back here on our own!” 

Fitz was moving so quickly Jemma practically had to trot to keep up with him, and she was panting slightly once they drew even with the undercover detective. His eyes flashed, anger readily apparent, when the Scot mentioned that the other man had vanished. “Get inside,” he growled, pushing them toward the warehouse. “I need to call this in.”

The pair rushed to do as he asked, although Jemma couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder when she heard him speak into his radio. “Dispatch, this is Esposito… Russ went missing. It seems quiet out here, but I could use some backup on the kids, just to be safe.”

The dispatcher’s response was garbled by static as Fitz and Jemma slipped beneath the busted fence. Jemma felt better all the same knowing that Esposito was right outside and there’d be extra officers to watch them that night. Her shoulders had just begun to relax when the soft scrape of footfalls and a soft voice calling out to them cause her to jump and whirl around.


	9. Chapter 9

Her heart dropped into her stomach at the sight of cold, gray eyes and a menacing smirk. The last they’d seen of Donald McCormick had been from a Greyhound bus window as they pulled out of Boston. Seeing IndoTech’s head of security now terrified her. How had he made it past Esposito in the first place?

 

Fitz had ushered Jemma in ahead of him and swore when he saw McCormick. The older man, still fit and well able to pursue them if he wanted, laughed at the expressions of fear on Fitz and Simmons’ faces. “Well, well, well. Looks like you two aren’t as bright as Gonzalez and IndoTech thought you were, huh?” McCormick gritted out, sounding amused, but there was anger beneath it, too. “I’m about sick of chasing you fucking brats all over creation. And you got the cops involved - you should have just gone quietly, you know.”

 

He moved slightly and Fitz froze, his blood running cold. The previous victims had been knifed, but there was no mistaking the flat matte finish of the gun in McCormick’s hand. They couldn’t even run - there was no telling how long McCormick had been in the building, what traps he might have set, if he knew the building better than they did.

 

His hands were shaking and Fitz could feel the sting of tears forming in his eyes, but he’d be damned if he let this man win. Taking a step forward, he leveled McCormick with an icy glare. “You know wha? Fuck you. Look at you, murderin’ a bunch of innocent kids. For what? Money? It doesna matter now - we told the cops everythin’. Even if y’ kill us, the FBI is involved and they’re going t’ take you down right along with Gonzalez an’ his precious IndoTech. Maybe you should be the one runnin’.”

 

Fitz’ defiance left a warm feeling in Jemma’s belly, and she managed to give him a small grin as her fingers found his. Perhaps now that they were here at the end of things she’d lost her sense of self preservation, but she found herself feeling incredibly calm. She was with Fitz. This wasn’t how she wanted things to end, not by a long shot, but the warmth of his fingers pressed into her palm helped to clear her mind. It was crazy, but maybe if she could goad McCormick into firing the weapon - hopefully wildly - or even shouting loudly enough, maybe Esposito and the cavalry would get to them in time. She hoped.

 

“They’re here now, you know,” she taunted softly, pressing herself more closely to Fitz. “He’s right. There’s nowhere to run. This is it.”

 

“That may be,” the older man shot back, voice echoing through the empty building, “but I can still finish the job I was sent to do!” The metallic click as he cocked his gun was eerily loud in the abandoned space, and the duo froze as he swung his arm up to take aim. The moment seemed to spin out forever, with Jemma squeezing Fitz’ fingers as though it could ward off what was to come.

 

There was enough of a pause between McCormick cocking the gun and actually squeezing the trigger that Fitz just managed to react. Jemma’s fingers were tight around his and he frantically tugged her back, behind him. The man hadn’t been kidding about his intent and everything turned to chaos a moment later.

 

Fitz fell back, unintentionally taking Jemma down with him as his world exploded into disjointed impressions of things. He was dimly aware of a cacophony of dissonant noise - a scream, loud voices and more gunshots - but they barely registered. The bullet had ripped into his left shoulder, blood spilling from the wound and leaving Fitz whimpering in pain. Terrified and hurt, he weakly tried to catch at Jemma when her face came into his field of vision.

 

“Wha- _No_. Run,” he gritted out. The damage was done for him. She needed to go, get out of McCormick’s way.

 

After it was all said and done, Jemma realized that Esposito must have been right behind them after calling for help. That, or the man had a spookily good sense of when he was needed. Those were the only reasons she could come up with for what happened next.

 

Almost as soon as McCormick fired at them, the detective fired off three quick rounds. None of that had phased her though. All she could see was Fitz, his face a ghastly white and eyes wide as he registered the pain and then collapsed onto the concrete. Panic overtook her, and Jemma found she couldn’t breathe as she watched the red stain spread slowly across his chest and shoulder.

 

Jemma ignored his protest, tears welling up in her eyes as she pressed her palm more firmly to her friend’s shoulder. Blood was seeping out at an alarming rate, soaking his canvas jacket and staining her fingers crimson. “Fitz,” she murmured, ducking further down over his body, “Fitz, stay with me! Eyes open, please…”

 

The pain was overwhelming to start with and then between the fear and the accompanying adrenaline rush it all became sensory overload. Fitz’ felt like he couldn’t breathe and then his chest went tight and he couldn’t help but think the worst. It hurt more when Jemma pressed on the wound, and Fitz closed his eyes, trying to block out at least one of his senses.

 

He was having trouble keeping his eyes open, and a low whine began to sound in the back of Jemma’s throat. “No,” she moaned, “no, no _no_! Fitz! You berk, stay with me. You cannot go and get yourself shot and leave me here. Do you hear me? Fitz! Stay awake!” She leaned in with every exclamation until her forehead was pressed against his and their noses brushed. Her tears fell against his cheeks, and Jemma began to shake in fear when she realized he wasn’t responding to her any longer.

 

She coaxed him to open them and he did his best, but things were graying out and fuzzy. He’d been _shot_. As much as Fitz wanted to do as Jemma asked - anything to make her stop crying over him - there was nothing. He slipped under fast and yet slowly, and the last thing he heard was Jemma crying out for someone to help.

 

“Help!” Her cry drew the attention of the officers who had rushed in. “Help him, _please_!”

 

~*~

 

Fitz woke slowly, a groan rasping from his throat. He hurt all over, his body aching, but there was a peculiar muffled feeling that also told him he was heavily drugged. The sharp scent of bleach, the steady beat of a heart monitor and the sticky pressure of an IV in the back of his hand told him he was in the hospital. The weight of his eyelids alone felt like too much to lift and he struggled to crack them open just a little.

 

The room was thankfully dim, the glaring overhead fluorescents turned off. Something behind him was on though, casting a cool light that let him see his surroundings. Of course, none of it especially mattered once his eyes fell on the small figure in the chair beside him. Jemma looked terribly uncomfortable, limbs pulled up and in as close as she could get them, and she shifted restlessly as he watched her. At least she was safe, he thought to himself. At least he’d done that much right.

 

“Jemma?” It took Fitz a try or two to whisper her name, his mouth dry and the single word catching in his throat. Selfishly, he just wanted to talk to her for a minute or two and be certain nothing else had happened after he’d gone under.

 

Her head jerked up to look at him, her body coming out of the half-doze she’d been trying to give in to for the past hour. She had sat vigil next to him for nearly four hours when her weariness overcame her, and, thanks to a kind nurse who found her a blanket instead of kicking her out, had tried to settle in as best she could. The problem wasn’t comfort; after months on the street she had grown used to sleeping nearly anywhere. Rather, it was what she saw each time she closed her eyes: Fitz, falling to the pavement and then going still.

 

Her relief was palpable when she stood up, movements jerky as blood flowed back into her extremities, and leaned over him. Jemma gave no thought to personal space, leaning her forehead against his once more and gently wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Fitz, hi,” she whispered, her words more than a bit watery. Her tears had sprung up without warning, and try as she might to put an end to them, she didn’t seem capable of it.

 

Fitz didn’t know what he’d been expecting her to do, but that wasn’t it. Not that he was complaining, but moving his shoulder to hug him caused a moan of pain and brought tears to his eyes. Jemma jerked back from him, and he could see the sadness on her face and hear the apology on her lips before she said a word. She hadn’t meant to cause him more pain, he knew that, and he fumbled after her with his good hand.

 

“No, c’mere,” he mumbled, letting his eyes fall shut again. Fitz wasn’t sure how much of his weariness was actual fatigue and how much was from his body being overstressed by trauma and drugs, and he didn’t think he’d be awake long. He wanted Jemma though, and was relieved when he felt her fingers tangle with his. Prying his eyes open again, he tugged her hand, urging her closer. It wasn’t as if they’d never slept together under less than ideal circumstances. Wedging in next to him would have to be better than that chair, and the rails would keep her from falling.

 

Jemma followed easily, feeling far looser than she had moments before. Hearing his voice, no matter how strained, had that effect on her. It didn’t take her long to realize what Fitz was after, and she paused just long enough to reach back for her blanket and toe off her ratty trainers before slipping into the bed next to him.

 

Thankfully they were both thin and fit easily on the narrow mattress. It took some careful maneuvering, but eventually Jemma managed to find a way to drape herself along his side that wouldn’t pull on his IV or force him to put his injured shoulder in an awkward position. She nuzzled against his good shoulder and pulled the blanket up to her chin, eyes slipping shut as she made herself right at home in his personal space. “You scared the hell out of me, you know.” Jemma’s words were obscured by a yawn, and it was clear that weariness had loosened her tongue. “I… life wouldn’t be the same without you, Fitz. No more nearly getting yourself killed, yeah?”

 

Fitz’ heart twisted at her words. She might not have realized it, but he had… Jemma’s face was at the same level as his shoulder. If he hadn’t pushed her behind him, she wouldn’t be here. And that was simply not acceptable to him. He couldn’t lift his arm around her, even on his uninjured side, but he moved his hand to brush against hers. “‘M sorry for worryin’ y’,” he whispered, his brogue thick with sleep. “Talk in the mornin’?”

 

She’d grown so used to holding his hand that her fingers wound through is automatically as she nodded. “Morning,” she agreed. Then, before sleep could rob her of the chance, Jemma leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to Fitz’ cheek. “You’re a hero, you know. My hero.” Pleased with the description, she gave a soft chuckle and curled into him as much as she could, her hand creeping up to bunch in the material of his gown. “Good night, Fitz.”

 

Happy and relieved, Jemma quickly fell asleep with Fitz’ heart beating out a steady rhythm beneath her palm.

 

~*~

 

The paperwork took the better part of the night to complete, but despite being exhausted Beckett and Castle dragged themselves to New York Presbyterian the next morning to check on their two favorite runaways. The detective pulled up just short of the doorway, hand out to stop her husband from plowing forward as she watched the teens.

 

Simmons had perched on the mattress at Fitz’ hip, one leg curled up while the other dangled over the edge. She was holding what appeared to be a pudding cup and seemed to be cajoling her friend into finishing it. “Just another bite,” she fussed, spoon poised in mid-air. “With all of those pain meds, you need something in your stomach. You barely touched breakfast.”

 

Not wanting to embarrass them by walking into a spat, Castle nudged Kate into the room and knocked on the open door. Two wide pairs of eyes swung around to the older couple, and he was amused to note the blush the crept up both their cheeks as they shifted slightly away from each other. Castle had his suspicions about their relationship, although he found it somewhat endearing that neither of them seemed to have it fully figured out. He ducked his chin into his chest to hide his grin and shoved his hands into his pockets while Kate spoke to them.

 

“Fitz, Simmons. Good morning. How’re you feeling?”

 

Fitz hurriedly glanced away from Castle’s knowing grin only to see a similar expression on Beckett’s face. He’d used up pretty much all his patience already, with Jemma’s fussing and he didn’t have enough to spare for the cop and her partner. “Oh, jus’ peachy for havin’ been shot last night,” Fitz grumbled, picking at his blanket with his good hand. “How did McCormick get past Esposito? Hope y’ caught the bastard,” he added.

 

He could practically feel Jemma vibrating her disapproval next to him, but really… Beckett’s team had promised to keep them safe and here he was with a bullet hole in his shoulder and quite vivid memories of the doctors digging the thing out of him last night. Thankfully they’d kept Jemma out of the room for that, so she hadn’t seen him sobbing and writhing on the table. Even with anesthetic it had hurt and he’d been terrified.

 

This morning was better, but Fitz had still spent the hours wondering what happened to them now? McCormick was hopefully in custody, but he was only one person. What about the rest of them up in Boston? Gonzalez and IndoTech and the police? They couldn’t go back now.

 

“McCormick’s alive, but not well.”

 

Jemma’s eyes snapped toward Detective Beckett, and set the half-eaten pudding cup aside as the older woman took a half step closer to the bed. Her husband slipped into the chair Jemma had abandoned the night before and explained the rest of her statement.

 

“The team last night took him down. He’s in recovery-”

 

“ _What_?!” Jemma was off the bed like a shot, looking for all the world like she was ready to rip into the both of them. “He’s here of all places?! While- God, we can’t stay here, can we? What happens when they find out where he is and-”

 

Kate caught the girl by the shoulders and gently guided her back to the bed. “Of course he’s not here. He’s at Riker’s, in the hospital ward. Relax. You’re safe.” She waited until Jemma took a deep breath and the tension went out of her body before broaching the subject they had really come to speak about. “He’s indicated that once he’s recovered he’ll flip on Gonzalez and IndoTech, in exchange for a reduced sentence, but that’s no guarantee. We need to talk about what happens to you two next.”

 

It dawned slowly on Jemma and she found herself sagging against Fitz as she spoke. “We can’t go home, can we? You’re here to tell us that because we told you everything - the project, the secret plans for the weaponization of Fitz’ drones, Gonzalez and McCormick’s role - we can’t ever…” Jemma trailed off, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she began to process everything that had happened and what it meant for their future.

 

Fitz’ heart started racing, and he was glad the machine they had him hooked to only had a visual display and not the audible beeping that would give him away. He pressed his hand to Jemma’s back, out of Beckett and Castle’s line of sight, both to steady her and comfort himself. Jemma could do the talking well enough for the both of them, since she was giving voice to his same concerns.

 

“Well, there are a few options,” Kate said, glancing at Castle and then at the pair on the bed. “We can arrange for you to go home, and hope that trouble doesn’t follow you home. We’ve gotten the FBI involved, they’ll be around to talk to you and they can have you put into witness protection. New identities, get you admitted to a different schools and programs, lie low until things blow over and hopefully get you back on track at MIT.”

 

She’d done her research on their runaways and discovered plenty of already published work. Fitz and Simmons couldn’t be allowed to live and work together if they went into witness protection. They were too far outside the norms to be properly hidden. College students at their age, geniuses, Brits and working together in highly specialized fields. Individually, they were conspicuous. Together they were impossible.

 

“There’s no good option,” Castle admitted. Even his creativity hadn’t come up with anything truly appropriate for their pair of runaways.

 

“So you’re sayin’ you an’ the American police wash your hands of us and leave us t’ go home t’ whatever we might find their, or be separated an’ go into hiding until the FBI puts the lot of them away. Tha’ could be _years_ ,” Fitz scowled. He hated both choices. The FBI could investigate and arrest these arseholes but not get a conviction and they still come after the two of them. It might never be over.

 

Jemma’s tears came faster as the reality of what they were saying sank in. Home would never be safe. They would always be looking over their shoulders, wondering when the other shoe would drop. Even if they moved back to London or across the country, the question would always be dangling over them. But taking the FBI’s offer meant a life away from Fitz and all she had ever wanted to do with her life. Jemma leaned back into Fitz’ open palm, trying and failing to soothe herself.

 

“There really are no good options,” she murmured, voice thick with tears. Both Beckett and Castle looked at the girl with sympathetic eyes. They were good people who were trying to do their best, she knew that, but they had no answers. She and Fitz were on their own, as ever.

 

“You have a few days until the FBI comes to speak with you. You don’t have to make up your mind right now,” Castle offered. “And if you’d like, we can be here when you do speak to them.” He felt Kate nodding along with his statement and relaxed. They’d both try to do their best for these two, and hopefully it would result in a happy ending.

 

Jemma nodded and shifted back so she could look Fitz in the eye. “I… I think we need to talk.” Her words were for the Castle and Beckett, but her eyes never left her friend. He seemed just as distraught as she, and Jemma knew then and there she couldn’t leave him. Wouldn’t leave him, no matter what the FBI said. Turning back to the other couple, she continued, “But we appreciate the offer. Given our experience with law enforcement prior to this, it’d be nice having someone we trust in the room. Thank you.”

 

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Castle pushed himself out of the chair and placed a gentle hand on his wife’s back. “Think about it, and call us. We’re more than happy to come back.” To their credit, both Fitz and Simmons tried to smile, although it never quite reached their eyes, and nodded as he escorted Kate from the hospital room.

 

~*~

 

“There’s no chance they’ll let them go together?”

 

Castle asked the question despite knowing the answer. He could feel Kate’s back tense beneath his palm and he allowed his fingers to stroke gently down her spine in the hopes of soothing her. It was clear that she didn’t like what was happening any more than he did.

 

“They’re minors. I’m not even sure they could go into the program without their parents, and the more people the more complicated this all gets.” Beckett hadn’t had much occasion to tangle with the Marshal’s Service, but the few times she had were enough to tell her they’d bristle at the idea of keeping a hodgepodge group together.

 

The opening elevator brought an end to their conversation and the couple took a half step back to let the car clear. Even so, Kate found herself jostled, and shot the offending woman a look. Something about her struck Kate as strange. Where everyone else was dressed casually, she wore a suit, her heels clacking down the hall as she peered into rooms. Kate’s gut was telling her to get off the elevator and follow, but she stopped herself when the woman leaned over the nurse’s station to ask directions, writing it off as overly active police nerves.

 

“I don’t know, Castle,” she murmured again as the elevator doors slid shut, cutting them off from the ward. “We’re just going to have to wait and see.”

 

~*~

 

“Tha’s no’ an option.” The door had barely clicked shut when the words spilled from Fitz’ mouth. “No… I canna. Jus’ no. They can put us in witness protection or whatever they’re talkin’ about, but we’re no’ splittin’ up. Tha’s just nonsense.” It was a bone-deep instinct by now to stick close to Jemma. They were partners in all the best of possible ways and she was his first real friend. He’d be damned if he’d give that up, especially now.

 

The very thought of not seeing her for an uncertain amount of time - if ever again - made him feel sick to his stomach. It wasn’t just that he’d gone and developed feelings for her, but that he was so accustomed to her company. She accepted him, let him be himself for better or worse, and he thought maybe she felt the same about him. He tried his best, in his awkward way, to be the friend she needed.

 

His vehemence made Jemma smile, even though she knew that, despite his sincerity, it wouldn’t amount to much. From the little she knew about Witness Protection, they only moved families together. She and Fitz weren’t related by blood. Unless they got married - something she certainly wasn’t ready to entertain as a serious option - they would be separated. Shifting so she was facing him, Jemma reached out to Fitz and linked their fingers together, eyes focused on the thin coverlet between them.

 

“Fitz,” she murmured, tears still clinging to her bottom lashes. “If we hide… there’s no going home. They won’t let us go together, and we won’t see our families.” Jemma saw him scoff and squeezed his fingers to prevent his coming argument. “We can’t take on the United States government, Fitz. No matter how much we might want to.”

 

“What are we goin’ t’ do then?” Fitz asked quietly, his voice thick. “I might no’ have had the best life, but that doesna mean I’m willing t’ pretend it never happened. An’ you-” His cheeks flushed and he looked down at the blanket covering him, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the folds. “You’re the best thing tha’s ever happened t’ me. You’re my bes’ friend and the bes’ partner I could’ve asked for, an’ I-”

 

Fitz hesitated again, unsure what, if anything, else he should say. This seemed like a terrible time to admit to anything beyond what he’d already mentioned… Probably for the best that he went quiet and let them brainstorm how to get through this. Being on the run, homeless and struggling had been hard enough, but they’d been _together_. Going back to a lab, being able to study and make discoveries felt cold and hollow, knowing she wouldn’t be beside him anymore. His own eyes filled, and Fitz swallowed hard against the emotional reaction.

 

Seeing Fitz’ own reaction, his reddening cheeks and the distress written plainly on his face, caused Jemma’s tears to fall. For all she was ready to be off the streets, she wasn’t ready for a life without him. How could she be? He’d been her rock through everything, the one person she knew she could trust entirely. A life without him was unthinkable. Not only that, but it was cruel to ask them to part. However, governments cared very little about what happened to small, unimportant people like them. They’d both seen enough evidence of that.

 

She reached for Fitz, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks as she leaned in close, her cheek pressed to his. “You’re my best friend, too, Fitz. I… you have no idea how much you mean…” Jemma squeezed her eyes shut against the hot flood of tears and pressed a hasty kiss to his cheek. That wasn’t enough for her though, and she found herself laying a small trail of them up across his temple to his forehead, where she left one last, lingering kiss before resting her head against the same spot. Jemma was aware that her tears were running down her face and dripping onto Fitz’ cheeks, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

 

She could feel his breath ghosting against her chin and it caused her to tremble. There were a million reasons why doing this now was a bad idea, but Jemma found she couldn’t think of a single one. “Fitz,” she breathed, voice shaky as she gently brushed her nose against his. “Fitz, I…”

 

Fitz froze entirely at the first kiss, his hands fisting in his blankets. When she kept going, he could swear his heart stopped. He did hold his breath though, uncertain and yet thrilled. Just when he thought she’d really kiss him, Jemma leaned her forehead against his, and Fitz peered against her from the scant distance, finding her eyes closed.

 

“Jem… Shh. Shh, lass,” he whispered. He’d started out curious what she was going to say, but then her tears registered. All Fitz wanted was to make it better, to let Jemma know that he’d never walk away from her, and he instinctively tipped up to press his mouth gently against hers. Fitz hadn’t ever kissed anyone, making him ever so careful, even more than he usually was with her in new situations.

 

With her eyes still closed it took Jemma a long moment to register what the feather-light sensation against her lips was, and she gasped as soon as it did. Fitz was _kissing_ her, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh out of relief that they were on the same page or pull him closer and enjoy her first real kiss. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the chance to decide. There was a soft tapping of nails against the doorframe as a clipped English accent called out, “Hello?”

 

It was just enough to startle Jemma and she jumped, her teeth bumping awkwardly into Fitz’ as she jerked back. “Bloody hell,” she whispered, softly enough that only Fitz heard her as she shot off the bed. She spared a quick glance over her shoulder, taking in just enough to see a well-dressed black woman hovering in the door. Not wanting a stranger to see her with tears on her cheeks, she quickly swiped at them, trusting Fitz to do the talking for her at the moment.

 

Fitz startled too, but his flinch was for the punch of hurt at the way Jemma pushed back as if she was ashamed to be caught kissing him. Tearing his eyes away from his best friend to look at the intruder, he felt his spine stiffen. She could be a bloody assassin, Fitz thought privately. For all that the woman had a blank, professionally aloof expression on her face, there was something about the prim suit that said military - or perhaps it was just the impeccable posture.

 

They were sitting ducks here, he admitted. Cornered and alone, and he certainly wasn’t going anywhere quickly any time soon. “What d’ you want?” Fitz growled. He couldn’t even bring himself to be scared again. After the scene in the warehouse and everything after he was too tired for niceties.

 

Jemma turned in time to see the stranger arch one impeccable eyebrow at her best friend. Try as she might, she couldn’t decipher the expression Fitz was wearing. The only thing that was clear to her was that she needed to be near him. Needed the reassurance of his touch. She shuffled closer to the mattress, her hand finding his atop the covers as they both stared the woman down.

 

“You can relax, both of you.”

 

Seeing that neither of them were going to follow her directive, the woman sighed and moved to shut the door. It would be for the best if no one could overhear their conversation. Her superiors certainly wouldn’t want to be made known to the public at large. “My name is Anne Weaver, and before you agree to Witness Protection, I have another offer I think you should consider… ”

 

 


End file.
